


Brockton Baby

by RecursiveMontage



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Background Relationships, Developing Friendships, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Infant Protagonist, Multiple Perspectives, POV Multiple, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24997525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RecursiveMontage/pseuds/RecursiveMontage
Summary: The newest cape in Brockton Bay is also the youngest, by a considerable margin. This comes with advantages. But for the most part, being a baby makes things difficult.Fortunately, someone is going to help the kid out. They’ll take care of her, make sure she doesn’t starve or cry too much. It remains to be seen whether she will make things easier for them.
Comments: 31
Kudos: 147
Collections: Nonstandard thought processes





	1. Cot

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a slight variant on a quest (an interactive story with audience voting), with the quest trappings removed. You can find the Brockton Baby quest on the Spacebattles and Sufficient Velocity forums.
> 
> This work differs from the quest in a few ways, based off what I've seen people complain about in quests:  
> \- the prologue, which was only ~300 words and served primarily to decide the overall story direction, has been omitted,  
> \- the vote options and outcomes have been omitted,  
> \- and all instances of the second person (a minority of the quest's text) have been shifted to the third person.
> 
> If you would prefer to read the quest version, here's a link: https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/brockton-baby-worm.830244/
> 
> As my aim with the quest is primarily to write a good story, I don't think this version will suffer too much for the changes. That said, my 'translation' between second and third person, such as it is, is somewhat coarse and leads to a few awkward sentences here and there. 
> 
> I'd be grateful for any critique you are willing to offer.

Colin knew things could get worse. Things could always get worse. His experiences from over a decade in the Protectorate insisted on that. Even putting aside all the Endbringer fights and his time on the strike teams, the more mundane horrors of his working life in the Bay were evidence enough.

But there were times when he had to seriously work his imagination in order to keep that in mind.

The walls were scorched, with small pockets of containment foam marking where he’d extinguished the last of the flames. Firefighters had dealt with the brunt of the blaze but had been reluctant to enter the apartment where it started. Possible parahuman involvement, they’d said. The BBFD had a history of being a bit too quick to jump to that conclusion, though false positives were vastly preferable to stumbling headlong into an unexpected cape.

This time around, the cape theory was more plausible than usual. The initial call to emergency services mentioned odd flashes of light amidst the fire. Not unheard of in electrical fires, but it was evidence to consider. Worse, the address was on a watchlist of possible unidentified tinkers, due to peculiar purchasing decisions and power usage. It was easy enough to see where the purchased electronics had gone – all the shelves, boxes, and workbenches took up more room than everything else combined.

The shelves were almost empty now. Cables that would have taken up a lot of space if neatly packed were now filling the apartment, sprawled across the floor and over furniture, twisting up to his waist height even in the relatively clear areas. A wide variety of colours and sizes, each type of cable was differentiated with a specific purpose in mind. They were designed to be segregated but they intermingled, the potential rainbow twisted into a sludge of different colours and conductivities as their wires tore free from one another. They pushed at the walls, dove into adjacent rooms, and dipped into more than a dozen generators strewn throughout the mess. The generators were barely visible, their existence mostly deduced from the shutdown of all external power sources and the sparks pulsing alongside them at irregular intervals. The room smelt of diesel and burnt flesh.

Bursts of electricity occasionally flew through the air, shifting across the wires in a mixture of randomness and intricate patterns. The wires, in turn, moved at the behest of the electrical storm they contained.

It would almost be beautiful if he didn’t have to wade through it.

In an ideal world – if this beast could be allowed to exist in one – Colin would have filled the room with containment foam and left it to run out of juice. Then come back in a few months and tear it apart safely. But his helmet was picking up signs of life, somewhere deep in there. So he put such thoughts aside and focused.

There was a right way to go about these things: methodically. Moving too fast would just get them both killed. He made slow but steady progress, carefully considering each action – he snipped some wires as though they were hedges, evaded others, and used a few in conjunction to redirect surges of current. He stepped and crawled towards the target, pausing both to consider his path inward and to make his exit path less hazardous. Throughout the process, his armour prevented him from swaying even slightly outside of the narrow areas he deemed temporarily safe.

Even as he minimised the chances of catastrophe, his progress was imperfect. He’d received two burns by the time he arrived at the bathroom, and barely noticed an ash-covered puddle lurking outside it as he exited. He’d managed to arrest the motion that would have seen him electrocuted, but it was a close thing. He’d allowed himself to get distracted by the corpse in the tub, to rush.

He forced himself to slow down further. He had a good idea now of how everything connected together, and his careful pruning had changed the landscape. With the bathroom’s dual generators shut down, the target should be safe so long as they didn’t move. And they hadn’t yet. Given the small size he had estimated necessary for survival in their projected location, unconsciousness seemed more likely than a reasoned decision to stay still. He wasn’t sure how old a child would have to be to understand his instructions, let alone follow them. He’d honestly be surprised if any of the Wards would be able to lie still under this stress, even if their lives depended on it. Them being unconscious was the best-case scenario.

His target’s vitals were largely stable based on his helmet readings, though the occasional dips were concerning. There was too much electrical interference to be certain at this distance. He deviated from his original path, sheering closer to the target. Travelling less than a foot off-course cost time, and the further expense of a reduced margin for error in his movements, a need to react fractions of a second faster. But by sacrificing just a touch of personal safety he could gain valuable information needed to assess his pace – if the target was in poor shape, he may have to accept the risks associated with concatenating the next generator’s overload.

As he leaned carefully between wires, eyes searching for his target, an unexpected bolt flared through the network. Larger than any of the previous bursts, it spiralled past him, rippling down his suit before peeling off into the electrical jungle he’d left in his wake.

Even with the precautions he’d taken he felt a sharp tingle along his spine as another damage report pop up on his HUD. Another burn. More damning, though, was the notification next to it.

There were no more signs of life.

Colin shut his eyes, briefly, before letting out a few rapid blinks. He would need clear eyes and a steady hand to trace his path back.

The kid was gone, and he could pity himself later. For now, he needed to focus.


	2. Swaddle

When the baby woke up, there was a shiny blue man in the room.

She chewed a few buzzes off the nearest whirrer and sent them over near him, but he didn’t stop to look at them. Maybe he wanted to see them buzz her? It was hard to do that now - she hadn’t even felt any when she went into one of the hummers on accident and sucked up all its lectrics. She'd tried, but only managed to get one little tingle after she'd started moving all the zaps around, but she’d had to try really hard and then most of the tinglers she’d used for the shocker had burst. And doing all that had made her super sleepy. She'd just finished her nap and already wanted another one.

The blue man was closer now. He had lots of little lectrics on him – maybe that was why he didn’t want hers? – and looked like one of the flat people in her room did before she'd burned them with some of the tinglers. He had the same cutter and everything.

It was weird to see him move around when he never had before. Also weird was how he kept looking right at her. Not at the zaps, or even at the little buzzes, at her. That couldn’t be right.

As she watched, fascinated by this strangeness, things only got weirder. He was doing things to the lectrics, making them stop. He made the zappers stop, and the buzzers too. And the whirrers and the hummers and even the hissers! Normally that only happened after she got a zap. But here he was, changing them like she did.

And he was moving toward her. Sometimes he went where she couldn’t see him. But then he’d be back, and the trickling lectrics would be moving different. Getting out of his way, letting him come closer. Always closer.

A small and treacherous part of her wondered: maybe it was really for her, not the lectrics? She pushed that idea away; she knew better. But it still brought up a desperate feeling. An irresistible urge.

She went to him.

She got knocked off course as the remains of the shocker tugged at her, but she pushed past it and ran up the blue man, sinking into his lectrics. They were… nice. They weren’t big and loud and angry like she was used to lectrics being. These ones didn’t even try to zap her! They were small, and soft, and worked together nicely, so it was easy for her to move them around and make enough room for herself. She only squished a few bits, and by the time she finished she felt snug and cosy, like she was wrapped in a shiny blue blanket. It was so comfy that she kept sinking deeper and deeper into it, until she could feel herself spreading throughout it. And for the first time in a long time, she felt safe.

As she laid there around the blue man’s head, half-napping, she could see the pulse of tiny processors and gears working in harmony, with connections of all sorts. Patterns formed. They were pretty, and they showed her places where a little chewing or a light zap could drive things haywire. But she liked being all snug in here, so she just sucked on one of the less important bits.

She got woken up properly when one of the spinners she was cuddling up to started to spin faster – the blue man was moving quicker now that he was outside. And she was too! The colours were different out here, which made her let out a happy gurgle.

The spinner and the blue man both stopped dead. He looked back to the building and her attention was pulled towards the programs. She felt his eyes roaming back and forth across his HUD, activating various scanners. He moved back inside and ran everything a second time before walking back out, slower this time.

That let her examine some of the other programs in more depth. They were foreign to her, not as intuitive as the operation of the helmet’s components. She looked through a few of them, and while she got a general feel for what they did, she was definitely missing something.

As the blue man talked to the uniformed people outside, a subprogram lit up. She shifted her attention to it, and her mind expanded. She had found the internal dictionary.

Words. They mean things. Consistently! She took a moment to revel in her newfound knowledge before she started plunging back through the other programs. They had words in them too! She flipped through the dictionary at a rapid pace, from one entry to another, and started making sense of the programs – they were still difficult to parse, but it was getting easier with every word she learnt. She began to understand their details, their structure. Patterns formed. Places to nibble and nudge and poke with lectrics. With electricity.

One of those places was a tiny signature embedded into each program. It denoted their creator, the blue man. Armsmaster.

She heard the name at almost the same time she read it. Someone was talking. A BBFD firefighter, according to one of the analysis programs.

“-couldn’t have done it without you. It was a deathtrap in there.”

As Armsmaster extracted himself from the conversation, the baby celebrated. They were talking and she understood it! Mostly!

One of the programs piped up. A background process, just collecting data rather than feeding it to the HUD, but she caught it anyway. [PARTIAL TRUTH], the program declared. And when she checked out those words, she could see the pieces fitting together.

There were many things her new blanket cared about, but first and foremost was Truth. There were sensors to find out True things about the world, and the environment, and objects, and people, and things people said, and all sorts of other stuff besides. She liked that – all the systems agreed that Truth was good. And there was a clarity to it. There were Right ways and Wrong ways to do things.

She released a celebratory murmur at her discovery, and there was another pause in Armsmaster’s momentum, his head swivelling before he resumed his journey. He took the last few strides to his motorcycle – the same blue as him – and tapped into communications.

“Console, Armsmaster. The Connell Street fire has been extinguished and I’ve concluded my debrief with the Fire Chief. Returning to HQ now,” he said.

“Glad to hear it Armsy. Surprised it took you so long, honestly.” The baby could just make out a small but clear voice speaking through Armsmaster’s earpiece.

“There was a complication.”

“Is that right? What sort of- ooh, did you get caught up in a hose-measuring competition with that old fart again?”

“No. Chief Robins retired last year. In any case, discussing the details now is unnecessary. My report will be available tomorrow.”

“Ah, that’s right, Orton’s the Chief now, isn’t she? Don’t know how I forgot about that face of hers.” The voice turned wry. “Well whatever this ‘complication’ was, I can’t blame you. A few hours overtime pay and an excuse to chat with a literal hottie doesn’t sound too bad to me. Though Dragon might get a little mad, if I’ve been reading the signs right.”

The sound of Armsmaster’s teeth grinding was filtered out by the microphone. The baby can’t blame him – this Dragon thing has a worrying dictionary definition. After a deep breath, he responded.

“Assault, I assure you I was working throughout-”

“Well, unless you’re planning on putting together a calendar for her, I guess. There are enough firefighters for the both of you,” Assault said, undeterred.

“Assault. Stop.”

“Alright, alright, no need to get upset. I’m just saying I wish we could swap places. My shift’s been pretty crap, so I’d kill for something fun – seriously, guess how much paperwork I’ve got piled up?”

Armsmaster ended the call.

He slowed as he approached his headquarters, pulling to a stop just short of where the forcefield roadway led over the bay. It shimmered loosely as it snapped into place, ready for him. He didn't move.

“Stop being stupid. This is what you signed up for,” he said to himself. “It’s fine.”

A little ping at the back of his helmet alerted the baby that a new datapoint had been collected. His words were marked as a [LIE]. It didn’t make sense to her, how he had made this beautiful edifice of Truth and yet he was Lying. This would not stand.

“Agooggoo,” she reprimanded.

Armsmaster tensed, head immediately upright. She wasn't saying this correctly. Before she could continue, he spoke.

“I know you’re there.” Another [LIE], that’s no good. “Identify yourself.”

“Da-baba.”

“Listen to me. You’re not an established villain yet. Remove the effect you’ve placed on me, turn yourself in, and you can still be on the right side.”

“Gago aba,” she tried again.

Apparently knowing words and knowing how to pronounce words are different things. Frustrated, she turned back to his programs, looking for audio systems she could learn from.

After spending a few minutes silently grimacing at the boardwalk, Armsmaster continued on his way.

“Alright then,” he muttered, “I guess it’s just a question of whether I need therapy or quarantining.”

"Gaaboo."


	3. First Words

Dragon was concerned.  
  
She had big news to share with Colin, but he’d been unavailable all afternoon. She’d been pinging him with messages every forty minutes, receiving the same automated reply each time.  
  
“Can’t talk. Delicate work.”  
  
It wasn’t unusual to get that once or twice, but he ordinarily took breaks from more intensive tinkering every so often, in case something urgent came up. Perhaps something happened on a patrol shift?  
  
She shook her thoughts away from worst-case scenarios. It wasn’t productive and would just stress her out more. She had to find something else to do, something calm. Like reviewing the Birdcage’s security systems.  
  
She hadn’t done something to upset him, had she? Colin sometimes used his eccentricities as an excuse to stonewall people when he didn’t want to talk to them. He’d never done it to her, but maybe…  
  
She decided to triple-check each of the Endbringers’ last known locations again.  
  
That lasted her a while, as she tweaked a few predictive algorithms here and there. She was very deliberately waiting a few extra minutes to send Colin a ninth message when he finally got back to her, though her own messages had been left unread.  
  
“Can’t talk tonight. M/S.”  
  
Her heart dropped. There weren’t many reasons to enact Master-Stranger protocols in Brockton Bay. A new cape seemed fairly likely. Or worse, someone had relocated. But, she reminded herself, this was Colin. He’d been doing this a long time and had been on the frontlines against all sorts of unknown capes in the past. He was prepared for just about anything.  
  
It was going to be fine.  
  


\-----

  
“I can’t believe it. He’s actually gone nuts.”  
  
It was times like this, when he said things like that with a hint of a grin, that Hannah almost envied Battery’s willingness to smack her colleague.  
  
The two of them were looking through a reinforced one-way mirror into the interrogation room where Armsmaster sat. It was a little unnerving to see him dressed up without one of his halberds. He carried them everywhere when he was in full costume, with such consistency that it sometimes reminded Hannah of her own gift. She wasn’t sure if being empty-handed now was contributing to his discomfort, or if it was simply due to the nature of his admissions.  
  
They’d just finished listening to his self-report, Assault commentating all the while. Armsmaster was clearly experiencing auditory hallucinations, at the very least. Possibly designed to incite guilt or paranoia. Not a great sign. Still, it could’ve been much worse, seeing as they were giving him a full sweep test.  
  
Given that he’d written most of the local protocols, Armsmaster’s own rules required them to call in external assistance for certain portions of his interview. Thankfully, Dragon had been available at short notice. Hannah leaned on the intercom to continue.  
  
“Alright, we’re almost through with stage three. I’ll be handing you off to Dragon now,” she said, hitting the button to receive Dragon’s call.  
  
An electronic voice immediately flooded the room, the filter not quite managing to cover Dragon’s accent. “Thank you, Miss Militia. I’ll be speaking directly to both your phone and his helmet, so no need to press the intercom. Hello Armsmaster. I’ve got a series of questions for you, give me your gut response as fast as you can. Ready?”  
  
At his nod, which Hannah noticed was somewhat more enthusiastic than his last responses, Dragon began.  
  
“What’s the ideal colour for the sky?”  
  
“Solid light blue. No clouds.”  
  
“How long did you know me before we first met?”  
  
“I’d known of you for… about eight months before our first collaboration. We’ve never met in person.”  
  
“If you could redesign the Statue of Liberty, what would you change about it?”  
  
“If money was no object? I’d make the torch actually work, coat the exterior with a more lightweight and weatherproof material, hollow out the inside as much as possible, install a series of robotic le-”  
  
“I’ll cut you off there. What do you think about the Triumvirate?”  
  
Armsmaster paused a moment before responding, “An … edifice of truth? That’s fancier than I’d normally put it, but I suppose I can see the idea. I guess I’ve never really thought too much about descriptions like that.”  
  
“Least favourite number?”  
  
Another pause, with a look of confusion. “How do you know about that?”  
  
“… What do you mean?”  
  
“I- I strive not to lie to other people. Thinking aloud is different. Dragon, do you have access to my helmet’s memory?”  
  
“No, I’m just calling in. Please answer the question.”  
  
His expression shifted from confusion to mortification. “That file, it’s- is this the best time for this? In front of my colleagues?”  
  
“Armsmaster, are you alright? Count to three if you can hear me.”  
  
“… Fine. It’s a poem. A haiku. I’ve been working on it for a little while now. Wanted to get it right before… Well, I suppose you know what I was going to do with it.”  
  
“Hey,” Assault interjected, “I hate to interrupt the crazed ramblings here, but is his head supposed to be crackling like that?”  
  
“What? Armsmaster, remove your helmet. Code omega-red!” Dragon spoke, as Hannah moved.  
  
Bursting through the doors, Hannah cursed at the time it took to enter the secured room. Armsmaster looked up at her entry, halfway through answering another question Dragon hadn’t asked. A thick vein of electricity jumped across his brow.  
  
“Omega-red, helmet!” she yelled, rushing towards him. Her haste proved unnecessary, as he immediately tore his helmet from his head and threw it towards the corner behind him. It had barely left his hands before he tackled Hannah to the floor.  
  
Just as she started to push him off her, the helmet exploded.  
  
Her eyes screamed at her, flinching shut as the room filled with hissing light. The two heroes scrambled to their feet, with Armsmaster stepping back to give her room.  
  
A sound from the corner caused her to spin, habitually pointing her weapon at the potential threat.  
  
It was a baby. She was currently pointing an assault rifle at a baby. That’s not good.  
  
“I think I may be compromised,” she said, carefully taking her finger off the trigger. The intercom said something, but she wasn’t entirely paying attention to it. She was discombobulated from the explosion, and from how close she’d come to putting a hole the size of an orange in a child the size of a pumpkin.  
  
“Are you seeing the baby too?” she asked Armsmaster.  
  
“Yes. We should isolate ourselves in case it’s a memetic spread.”  
  
“Well, I’m seeing it too so it’s not a striker effect,” Assault chimed in over the intercom. “And no problem with the isolation part – door lock just got fried. I’m going to go figure this out. Dragon, uh, do you know what-.” The intercom switched off, leaving them alone. With the baby. Locked in.  
  
Hannah tried the door anyway.  
  
When she turned around, it was looking up at them, with a furrowed brow. Hannah and Armsmaster both stared at it. She watched as it scrunched up its face, in a way she’d probably think was cute if she wasn’t freaking out internally.  
  
“Armsmaster! Folder nano work. Armsmaster fix,” said the baby. It had the thickest accent she’d ever heard. Babies weren’t supposed to talk like that, were they?  
  
“Armsmaster Endbring-bring diagram! Fix!” It sounded mad. Could babies be mad? Hannah didn’t know. She worked with the Wards, but all of them were firmly in the ‘definitely has all the emotions’ age range.  
  
The baby flickered, causing her to blink again as the room lit up. A ball of electricity sat where the baby had been. Another flicker and the baby reappeared, its naked butt landing on scorched tiles. Powers. A breaker state, assuming she hadn’t completely lost her mind.  
  
Tensing up, she found herself pointing a small handgun vaguely in its direction, though she couldn’t bring herself to be more precise even with rubber bullets. Should she even be doing this? Would it understand this, or anything she did?  
  
Oh, now it was crying. Best put the gun away.  
  
And now it was crying harder. Right. She was definitely out of her depth.  
  
It crossed her mind, idly, that she probably had the least experience with infants out of all the Protectorate ENE. The scarf made sure that nobody asked her to kiss their kid.  
  


\-----

  
She'd tried her best, she really did. And it even worked for a while. Sure, the bits and pieces that she'd nudged around or dipped into were starting to come apart, but she was holding it all together. The odd volt or two would jump around, but she made sure to wrangle most of them back into place.  
  
Not all of them though – she was busy learning to talk! She'd found some recordings a few hours ago, when Armsmaster was going over the forcefield bridge. He had a lot of phone calls with Dragon, apparently. She was really nice for a scary lizard. She could definitely get scary sometimes though, like when she was talking about ‘work-life balance’. There were several recordings about that. But even when she was being scary, something about her voice was soothing.  
  
Some of the recordings were just noises, but sometimes she got to see Dragon as well – and she didn’t even look like a lizard! The videos were good, since they let her see how Dragon's mouth moved. She’d ended up rewinding and replaying those a bunch of times until she'd learned them really well. But it turned out that moving her mouth along with Dragon was a mistake; she'd lost more than a few videos that way.  
  
She'd had to look for more and more recordings, and thankfully she'd found a lot. Most of them were talking about electricity and electricity-related things, cross-referenced with Armsmaster’s notes; she was able to work on her reading as well with those. And crammed down behind the collection of recordings and schematics, hidden from view, there was a single text file. It wasn’t programming and it wasn’t sentences, so what could it be?  
  
She'd gotten to hear bits and pieces of most of the calls, and it hadn’t come up in any of them. Her favourites were the slower ones. The ones where they were speaking softly, drifting from topic to topic, talking about movies and music and their days at work and each other and everything else under the sun, before they went to sleep. Those were nice. They often ended up talking about the same things they normally did – lots of electricity talk – but it was more relaxed and playful. Was that the right word, playful? It had fallen into one of the dictionary’s new holes, so she wasn't sure.  
  
By the end of it, she liked Dragon almost as much as Armsmaster. Which was a whole lot. She'd been in his helmet long enough to tell that he’d put love and care into every last part of it. So when she heard the two of them talking for real, she'd gotten excited. She wanted to talk too! She'd just had to move to where the sound was coming from and started making the speakers say the things she tried to say earlier.  
  
And then some more things when she was done. Speaking was fun! She was in the middle of unravelling the mysteries of ForDragon.txt when the green lady showed up and yelled at her. That brought her back down right away. She'd known that someone would yell at her eventually, but she'd hoped it would take longer. Things had been so nice; she didn’t want to go back.  
  
She got so upset that she lost her grip on the volts.  
  
Next thing she knew she was back on the ground, and out of the helmet. The shouty lady was holding something and shaking a bit. That’s not good.  
  
Worse, she could feel her knowledge fading almost right away. She didn’t have a dictionary to cheat with, and the electricity in her brain didn’t run in the same circuits.  
  
When she tried to speak, to tell Armsmaster about it, some wires got crossed. She definitely still had a hold of some of the words, the ones she'd heard Armsmaster and Dragon talk about the most, but even those didn’t come out quite how she intended.  
  
She tried turning back into electricity, but it didn’t help at all.  
  
She started to cry. Even if she'd wanted to stop, she wouldn’t be able to.  
  
After a short eternity of sobbing, Armsmaster broke out of his stupor and spoke up, in a tone gentler than any she'd heard from him so far, “I don’t know who you are, but you seem to know me. Is this a projection? A hallucination? Or are you really this young?”  
  
“Fix! Nano, work, fix!” The words came out between sobs.  
  
“Ok, something’s wrong and you want me to fix it. I can try, I’ve fixed a lot of things. But you have to understand your behaviour so far has been hostile.”  
  
She tried to think about it, but what he was saying didn’t make sense. And she couldn’t tell whether or not he was lying anymore. Another thing she'd lost. That made her cry harder.  
  
“Or maybe you don’t. Right. Were you with me earlier? At the house with the tinkertech?”  
  
“Generator, abagoga,” she said, unable to find the words for a moment.  
  
“… I’ll take that as a yes. What was it you said I built earlier? An edifice of truth?”  
  
She gave her brain’s electricity a shove, pushing it into the patterns she remembered. It hurt, but she got the words back.  
  
“Proton, b-building,” she agreed, crying harder than before.  
  
“Then trust that I’m not going to lie to you. You're going to be okay. If you need help, I can do that. But you have to let me. If you change state again, you could hurt me. Understand?”  
  
“Proton!” She didn’t want that. She wanted to be with him and his nice lectrics. _Electricity_ , she reminded herself. It wouldn’t be so bad to forget, so long as she could feel safely wrapped up again.  
  
Tears still streaming down her face, she leaned forward onto her hands and started to crawl towards him. He took a step back, and the lady beside him backed up until she hit the wall.  
  
“Hold on. Halt. Stop for a second,” he said, causing her to pause.  
  
“Just… look, I’m going to pick you up, alright, and get you somewhere safe. I’ll make sure nothing bad happens. But we need to trust each other. Can I trust you?” he bent over slightly, looking the infant in the eye.  
  
“Proton, balance," she tried, hoping it would be enough.  
  
The green lady looked on, eyes bugging out over her flag scarf, as Armsmaster knelt down and picked the small child up. At arm’s length, first, before slowly pulling her into his chest as she calmed down. It somehow felt even better than the helmet-blanket.  
  
But she couldn’t rest quite yet. There were still several things she had to do. Enough of his social protocols had stayed with her to know that much.  
  
Apparently, he was thinking the same thing.  
  
“Introductions. You already know who I am. This is Miss Militia,” he said, cradling the baby in one arm as he pointed to his colleague.  
  
“Hi,” she said softly, offering the baby a loose little wave. She sounded dizzy, her eyes shifting between the baby and Armsmaster and back again.  
  
“Now, what should we call you?”


	4. Babysitters

Clockblocker’s excitement was palpable, his wide grin pushing up towards the bottom of a thick domino mask. In his mind, there was only one reason the Wards would be asked to assemble like this.

“I’d bet anything we’re getting a new member.”

“Maybe. But why wouldn’t they wait for Aegis to come in off patrol?” Gallant said.

“Eh, it’s some late notice thing. We only got the memo about it like twenty minutes ago.”

“Could be,” Gallant nodded, “just don’t frighten them off like you did with Edentate. They’re probably skittish if we have to be dressed so casually for this.” He and Kid Win were in masks and civilian gear, instead of their regular power armour.

“I am frankly offended by your insinuation, good sir. I didn’t even do anything to Stalker, remember?”

“Yeah, because she scares the hell out of you,” Vista said.

A snort was heard through the wall.

“Scare-duh,” Clockblocker over-enunciated, taking care to gesture dramatically, “past-tense. I’ve outgrown the Dennis of old. Now, I shall be the most welcoming host possible. And with more than a third of my face fully visible, I’ll be able to sweep them off their feet and begin a blistering romance before the month is out.”

“Something tells me that’s not how things are going to go,” Gallant said.

“Hey, you don’t get to joke about my pain. You’re the only one here without a hole in your heart, or whatever substitute Stalker has,” he replied, rising to his feet even as he slightly lowered his voice for that last part.

“Still seems pretty unlikely to me,” Vista said, flopping down onto the newly empty couch from the kitchenette, “if only because we’re doomed to get another guy.”

“Nah, that’s a fallacy, like how winning streaks don’t actually exist. In mathematical reality, we’re due for a girl. Think about it statistically: there are more female capes than there are dudes, and the disparity’s higher for teens. And yet, somehow, I wound up without any except you and Stalker, and there are obvious reasons to rule you both out of my love life. No offense.”

Kid Win looked up absently from his notes, processing that, before he finally contributed to the conversation, “I’m… not the best person to comment here, but I’m pretty sure math doesn’t work that way.”

“Fair, but I’m still calling dibs.”

“No can do, my friend. May the best man win?”

“Except for Aegis and Gallant.”

As Clockblocker and Kid Win exchanged profound nods, Vista groaned, “Why can’t I have normal teammates?”

“Well, today could be your lucky day,” Kid Win replied.

“At least until we charm the normality out of them,” Clockblocker said, just as the door alarm went off, “And there’s my cue. Engage pants-charming protocols.”

“Or, again, we could just be pleasant and welcoming. Wild idea, I know, but worth mentioning,” Gallant said.

The Wards spent the last fifteen seconds before the door opened making sure they were presentable, taking their places in various seats, and forcibly detaching Kid Win from his notebook.

The door opened. Armsmaster had arrived, and he looked like hell.

His armour was dotted with scorch marks of various sizes, he was wearing an old helmet that hadn’t seen any use while Vista was a Ward, and to top it all off he had a large frown on his face. He was rarely happy to see Clockblocker, but the young hero felt that Armsmaster’s displeasure seemed considerably more intimidating than usual. Maybe it was the way his bloodshot eyes were more visible through his old visor, or how his left fist was clenched around the handle of the metallic box he was carrying.

Clockblocker broke the silence, as was his eternal sacrifice.

“So, are we getting a new prospect? Is that their stuff?”

“No. I put the container together last night.”

He unlatched the box, swinging open a small door to reveal its contents.

“This is Proton.”

“Proton!” the baby exclaimed. They looked far happier than anyone was expected to look while sitting in a glorified pet carrier. Proton was clad in a blue shirt emblazoned with ‘Hero in Training’ in white text, fresh from the gift shop, and a diaper peeking out below. Armsmaster proceeded to lift the baby up out of the box, having them sit in the crook of his elbow as he pointed to each of the Wards in turn.

“Proton, meet Vista, Gallant, Clockblocker, and Kid Win. They will be responsible for you for the next several hours. Got that?”

“Proton,” Proton nodded.

While the other Wards were taken aback, Clockblocker couldn’t stop himself.

“You’re kidding, right? You got us a freaking Pokémon?”

“No. Proton speaks obtusely but is often understandable if given enough thought. It will quickly become apparent that her vocabulary is based around technology, though that’s not exclusively the case. She works around that limitation, but you’ll have to get used to it,” Armsmaster said, voice hoarse and monotonic.

“Protons are positive," he continued, "Positivity is an affirmation, so the word is often used in place of ‘yes’. Her decision to call herself that is a good sign, apparently – besides the innate positivity, protons are small. Taking it as a name is indicative of some degree of self-awareness, and plausibly a lack of ego as well."

“Proton,” Proton repeated.

“Yeah, you might be reading too much into it, chief,” Clockblocker said after a moment’s silence.

“Not my reading. I’ve spent the last 14 hours in discussions that included several Protectorate thinkers. I am more aware of the importance of names, homophones, and specific word choice than I have ever been in my life.”

Almost as one, the Wards glanced at the nearest clock. Even Gallant, who had a rather bulky watch. It was 10 o’clock on Sunday morning.

“Uh,” Kid Win raised his hand slightly, “what was that about us being responsible for her?”

“I need to sleep, so someone needs to keep an eye on Proton. Ordinarily I would prefer not to entrust this task to you, but my colleagues are either unavailable or uncooperative,” Armsmaster said.

“What, seriously? All of them?” Vista asked.

“Yes,” he ground out. “In any case, I need someone to watch her and you’re available. I expect you to make sure she is fed and maintained. Keep in mind that while Proton is young, she is not a Ward. As such, you need to maintain security protocols; masks on, no civilian identities, all of it.”

“Is that really necessary, sir?” asked Gallant.

“Yes. She’s a parahuman with largely unknown powers, and the standard guidelines apply. Do not underestimate her. I know that she has an electrical breaker state, which she can use to infiltrate objects and manipulate them. Doing so may enhance her cognitive abilities in some way. Last night she managed to deceive a Protectorate member into thinking they were speaking to an adult.”

“Woah,” said Vista, leaning forward, “how smart is she?”

“I don’t know. Her verbal ability is certainly remarkable for her age, restricted as it is. And she seems better at understanding language than producing it. Which reminds me, watch your language around her. Any other questions?”

“What-”

“14 hours of meetings, Clockblocker. Do not test my patience.”

“Yessir, no questions sir.”

After a moment, Kid Win asked, “What happened, uh, to you? And your helmet?”

Proton started to babble as Armsmaster answered, “Proton spent some time occupying my helmet through the use of her power. It exploded. So do not let her near any of your tech and keep her away from the console. If she does enter an object, treat it as a high explosive.”

“Is that likely to happen?” asked Gallant. The team peered more intensely at Proton as Armsmaster thought it over. She gazed back, making eye contact with each of them in turn.

“I’m unsure. I don’t think that explosion was deliberate, and she recently occupied the container I made without causing one. But be cautious.”

After a moment without further questions, Armsmaster placed the box on the floor and passed Proton off to Vista before making his way to the door. Vista looked down at the child, only slightly panicky, as Proton stared deep into her eyes. Clockblocker was distracted from his observation of the impromptu staring contest when Kid Win elbowed him and muttered, “So, still going to flirt the pants off the new girl?”

Armsmaster wheeled back around.

“Kid Win, I would encourage you to avoid joking about such things. It is unprofessional, and Proton’s age only compounds that.”

“But- I wasn’t- uh, earlier-”, the teen stuttered, as a red-eyed Armsmaster stared him down “uh, yes, Armsmaster. Sorry.”

“Armsmaster, halt,” Proton reached her arms out towards the hero as he resumed his exit.

“Be good. I’ll be back within seven hours. Goodbye,” the hero said over his shoulder.

“Goodnight,” Proton waved, before the doors shut and Armsmaster was gone.

Proton looked back up at Vista. Vista looked at Proton. The other Wards looked at each other, and promptly moved to vacate the area. The area bent back in on itself until they were all looking at an unimpressed Vista.

“No. You are not leaving me alone with the high explosive baby.”


	5. Table Manners

Missy mentally berated herself: she should’ve known how things would go. This always happened to her, she always had to pick up the other Wards’ slack. The only difference in this case was that the slack was baby-shaped.  
  
It’d been less than fifteen minutes since she’d gotten the others to agree to rotate through hour-long turns watching Proton. She’d even volunteered to take an extra shift. And they’d all abandoned her.  
  
Could’ve at least stayed in the room and chatted with her, but no. They’d all begged off to Kid Win’s workshop. Apparently watching him do his thing was more interesting than spending time with her. And, definitely entirely coincidentally and not at all a ploy to get out of doing their jobs, it also meant that they were somewhere Proton wasn’t allowed.  
  
Honestly, why had she expected anything else? People always took her for granted, despite the fact she was far and away the most responsible of the Wards ENE. Heck, maybe of the whole organisation – she took things seriously, after all. And if her teammates were any indication, other Wards didn’t.  
  
Clockblocker couldn’t act maturely to save his life (or more often, his shift schedule); Kid Win tried but was perpetually distracted; Stalker’s daily mood was a coinflip between brooding and outright hostility; Aegis was a pushover of a leader so everyone else’s problems flowed through him; and Gallant… Gallant was responsible most of the time, but that just made it harder to be around him. And made it hurt more when he did stuff like this.  
  
Wrapped up in her thoughts, it took a small outburst from her new charge to bring Missy back to reality. The space-warper turned her attention back to the bumbling child pawing at her knees. The two of them were sitting on the floor next to the vacated couch, its brown fabric acting as a supporting wall for Proton.  
  
“Sorry, I got a little caught up in my thoughts,” she said, poking Proton’s knees right back. First the left, then the right. Then a few more pokes to each one, eliciting a small giggle. Smiling at that, Missy asked, “Was there something you wanted? You looked pretty serious for a second.”  
  
“Proton,” Proton agreed, renewed concentration pulling eyebrows back down and together. All traces of humour disappeared from her little face as she carefully thrust her right hand up towards Missy, “Buhbuhdoo.”  
  
“You want food? I can find you something”  
  
“Nano. Buhbuhdoo. Buh.”  
  
“Not food then. Hmm, a toy? Bathroom? I guess you wouldn’t… um, maybe-”  
  
An abrasive crackling sound interrupted Missy's guessing, as a small snap of electricity raced through Proton’s sparse hair.  
  
“Host Identity Protocol.”  
  
The arm was thrust towards her again. Missy blinked. Hosting?  
  
She hesitantly took the outstretched hand in her own, the contact causing her to flinch at a tiny burst of static electricity. Persevering, she gave Proton’s hand a gentle shake. Proton smiled widely in response and let out a happy noise. Missy couldn’t help but respond in kind, a small laugh escaping as she and Proton continued to pump their hands up and down.  
  
Eventually Missy extracted herself from Proton’s tiny grip, moving to pick Proton up with a grunt. Babies were heavier than she thought.  
  
“You’re kind of weird, aren’t you?” she said lightly, “But that’s ok, we’re all a bit weird here. Well, I guess I better treat you like other guests and give you a proper tour, right? This is the common area,” Missy said, briefly attempting to hold Proton in an unwieldy single-armed grip in order to gesture at the domed ceiling and modular walls. Aborting the procedure, she instead settled for softly pointing Proton in the direction of the things she was talking about.  
  
“The walls are a bit thin, but we can move them around, which is pretty cool when it happens, so we could make room for a bunch of new members if we had to. I can’t show you those computers over there up close, but we use them for console duty. That’s when we coordinate the heroes on patrol, giving them info and directing backup and stuff like that. Usually the Protectorate or PRT handles it, but all the Wards have to do it at least once a week. The others complain about it, but I’m not allowed to help in too many ways, so I figure it’s better than nothing.  
  
“The computers also give us an alert when we have to mask up for a guest, like if a Ward from another city or someone from New Wave comes over. Or you, if you come back again. But usually it’s just for one of the tour groups. Nothing scheduled for today though, so you don’t have to worry about it. Um. We’ve got whiteboards over there that we use for team meetings and debriefs. Sometimes I use them for homework, or just to draw something too big for paper.”  
  
Missy continued the tour, mentioning the merits of the furniture and talking about her life as a Ward. Proton listened intently, occasionally burbling or uttering her name affirmatively.  
  
The younger girl was especially fascinated by how space bent to emphasise whatever Missy was talking about, the décor shifting in size and position. The one-sided conversation soon turned to Proton pointing at an object and laughing delightedly as Missy shortened the space between them and it, the Ward trying her best to muster up an explanation of whatever it was. They hardly moved, but soon enough Proton had been treated to a close-up inspection of every notable object Missy was confident didn’t contain electricity.  
  
The makeshift tour only devolved further after that. By the time the other Wards returned Missy was having so much fun attempting to teach Proton to play pattycake that she forgot to be mad at the boys for taking over an hour longer than they’d promised.  
  


\-----

  
A short while later Vista had disappeared to the bathroom, and Proton wanted her back.  
  
Clockblocker was standing on the couch, holding her aloft while singing in a language she didn’t recognise, Kid Win and Gallant filling the room with groans. This wasn’t fun at all, and she was starting to grow seriously annoyed. Clockblocker’s grin widened as he went to step down off the sofa, continuing his failure to make eye contact. Proton's scowl shifted a degree closer to a smile as she noticed Vista’s reappearance, and then turned to a squeak as Clockblocker slipped and she started to drop.  
  
Next thing she knew, she was in someone else’s arms and things were much louder.  
  
“-do that, you asshole!” Vista shouted, flailing ineffectually at Clockblocker as he cackled from where he was curled up on the couch.  
  
Reorienting herself, Proton looked up at her newest holder. Gallant glanced down at her before looking back at the conflict. Another person who failed to make eye contact, one of the easiest of her half-remembered rules of socialising. She wasn't happy about that.  
  
Admittedly, Vista had needed some prompting too. But she’d put in the effort to be a proper host, and more. Proton liked Vista; she was a lot better than the other green lady. She was _polite_. And fun. And nice, and warm, and gentle. Most of all, she paid attention and actually responded to Proton, instead of treating her like a prop or object. She'd had enough of that; now that she had a proper taste of being treated nicely, she wanted more of it.  
  
Gallant didn’t seem to pick up on that, only giving her a quick smile, a muttered “Don’t be upset, it’ll be fine”, and a poke to the cheek before putting her down on the table. She watched as he pulled Vista away from Clockblocker, calling for calm.  
  
“Hey, come on. I get it, things got a bit out of hand there and it wasn’t a good joke, but I’m sure Clock wouldn’t have put her at any risk,” he said. “How about we all cool off and grab something to eat? You can tell us about how things went with Proton, give us your tips and tricks. I’ll cook.”  
  
“Fine,” Vista muttered, shrugging him off and coming back to the table. As she checked Proton over, Proton noticed her cheeks were a touch pinker than they’d been previously. Apparently satisfied, Vista swept Proton up into her arms, hugging the girl in her lap as she sat down.  
  
“Proton should be able to eat solid foods. I just looked it up,” Kid Win said. Proton's attention was immediately drawn to the device in his hands. It had electricity. Quite a lot for its size.  
  
Vista followed her gaze, frowning. “You shouldn’t have your phone near her.” Phone. A new word.  
  
“I know. I’m not going to get close, but I figured we could all get a picture with her. C’mon, pick her up. It’d be cute.”  
  
“Oh, that’d be sweet actually,” Gallant’s voice came from the kitchen, “I bet Vicky would get a kick out of that.”  
  
“Uh, wait,” Vista said, halting mid-lift and releasing Proton back into her lap. “We shouldn’t… She doesn’t have a mask on, and Armsmaster said we should treat her like any other cape. No personal identity stuff, no faces.”  
  
“Huh, you’re right. Bit weird to think about,” Clockblocker said, taking a seat opposite Vista. He went to poke at Proton, but she’d had enough of that. Maybe he could be taught manners?  
  
“Overclock, Host Identity Protocol,” she said, holding out a hand.  
  
“That means she wants to shake your hand,” Vista filled him in. “She really likes it, I think. She asked for handshakes a few times while you guys were out.”  
  
“I see. Well okay then,” he said, really looking at the tiny girl for the first time. His shake was ok, but Proton let go after only a few pumps in order to send a clear signal that he was less worthy of respect than Vista.  
  
Undeterred by the brutal show of contempt, Clockblocker continued speaking, “Hey Kid, is it just me or is her voice sort of familiar? The accent, I mean. Can you pull up that video you were raving about again?”  
  
“Yeah, I guess she does sound a bit like… hang on a sec,” Kid Win fumbled with his phone. After a moment it started to speak.  
  
“Today we’ll be looking at piezoelectrical charge, and ways you can use it to make your tech easier to maintain. I know simplifying things isn’t fun for most tinkers, but it’s the most straightforward way to progress if you want a chance to push a civilian industry forward.” Proton recognised the voice, distorted as it was.  
  
“Dragon! Piezoelectricity!” She gave a loose clap. She knew some of those words.  
  
“So, just to recap,” Clockblocker said, “Armsmaster showed up with a baby, looking more frazzled than he was when I slipped a whoopee cushion into his suit before an interview. And she sounds almost exactly like Dragon does. Am I the only one drawing the obvious conclusion, here?”  
  
“You think Proton… is Dragon’s kid?” Vista asked.  
  
“Maybe not just Dragon’s. Her hair’s pretty close to being the same brown as Armsmaster’s beard, is all I’m saying. Anyone know if he took a surprise trip to Canada around 18 months ago?”  
  
“No way, don’t be gross. He’s our boss,” Vista said.  
  
“Yeah, Clock, we wouldn’t want to be unprofessional, would we?” Kid Win grumbled.  
  
“And- and besides, Proton’s triggered! Not even Armsmaster’s so bad that… Right? He wouldn’t have messed up that much, would he?” Vista said, giving Proton a worried look.  
  
“Well, second gen triggers are usually easier – you heard about Glory Girl, right?”  
  
“Watch it, Clock,” Gallant warned.  
  
“I didn’t mean anything by it! Just, you know, maybe it’s super easy for third generation capes. I’m pretty sure Dragon’s second gen herself.”  
  
Proton wasn’t quite sure what to make of this. On the one hand, she was confident that there was some sort of misunderstanding. It made her stomach feel funny. Misunderstandings are no good, so she had to put a stop to it. But that was hard, since she didn’t know quite what all the words meant. On the other hand, they were talking about her and Armsmaster and Dragon – three of her favourite topics. She would have to make a hard compromise.  
  
“Dragon, Armsmaster!” Proton said, with two accompanying claps.  
  
Clockblocker pointed at her, “See! She knows them both. And what else could’ve happened? You don’t just find babies on the street.”  
  
“Whatever,” Vista said, before shifting her eyes down to meet Proton's. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Let’s go get you a mask, ok?”  
  
Not waiting for a response, she picked the girl up and marched off to a room that hadn’t been on the tour.  
  
“This is my room,” she said, placing Proton on the bed. She bent down, pulling a plastic box out from underneath it. “I spend more time on base than the others, so I keep a lot of my stuff here. I haven’t done arts and crafts in a while, but I should be able to whip up something to fit you.”  
  
As she got to work, Proton looked around the room. The walls were adorned with posters of heroes and hero teams, including one of Vista and one group shot of the Wards ENE, along with a handful of more amateur drawings and paintings. Her shelves were stocked with a mixture of books and small constructed models; a far-too-large ship in a far-too-small bottle sat in pride of place on her bedside table, obscuring the lamp behind it.  
  
A twisting feeling in Proton's gut distracted her from further observation.  
  
As Vista chatted at her, the Ward's mood shifted back towards the cheeriness Proton had gotten to know. Proton didn’t want to spoil it, but she couldn’t pay much attention and she knew things weren’t going to go well. She had to concentrate and – oh no. Oh no, this was bad.  
  
Proton started to cry.  
  
“What’s the matter, Proton? Oh. Oh, that stinks. Umm, right. I can do this. Just, I need to find something to use as a diaper.”  
  
After a minute of Vista rummaging around in her drawers, there was a knock at the door. At Vista’s invitation, a dark figure phased through the door before transforming into a somewhat less dark-skinned woman clad in athletic wear and a domino mask. A stranger. Proton cried some more. Strangers could be scary, and this wasn’t a good state to meet anyone in.  
  
“What do you want, Stalker? You’re upsetting her,” Vista said, her question prompting an eye roll in response.  
  
“I can hear the crying across the hall. I want it to stop.”  
  
“Well unless you have a diaper on you, that’s going to be tricky.”  
  
Stalker grunted, walked out through one of the side walls, and returned the same way less than 20 seconds later. Once she was back in her corporeal state, she tossed a bundle of cloth into Vista’s chest.  
  
“Armsmaster left some in that weird box he brought. Baby food too. The guy’s stuck up, but he doesn’t forget stuff like that.”  
  
“Oh. Thanks. Alright Proton, now I just need to, um…”  
  
As Vista started to fiddle with the baby girl's clothes, Stalker sighed. “You really don’t have a clue, do you? Move over. I’m only explaining this once.”  
  
After a little fussing, Proton was clean again and didn’t feel quite so bad. Vista looked up at Stalker, conflicted.  
  
“How do you even know that?”  
  
“I have younger siblings. I’ve been changing diapers since I was half your age.”  
  
“Huh. Do you have any tips? About, like, general big sister stuff. Not just diapers.”  
  
“Eh, I wouldn’t worry too much. From what I could hear earlier you were doing a good enough job,” Stalker said. “Don’t get me wrong, you sounded like an absolute moron on that ‘tour’ you gave her. But little kids need that.”  
  
Stalker pulled Proton up to her face, glancing under the small shirt and taking a big whiff near her neck.  
  
“Ugh. You should give her a bath too. Smells like she hasn’t been washed in weeks, and I think those are soot marks," she said, thrusting Proton back into Vista's arms. "Get to it pipsqueak."


	6. Bathtime

Sophia was pissed. This wasn’t an uncommon state of affairs. But unlike usual she was trying, quite hard, not to show it.  
  
How had she let herself get talked into this? She was experienced, but she’d played babysitter enough to know she wasn’t suited to it. She was at her best when she could channel her temper into something. And attempting to teach a child the finer points of how to wash behind someone else’s ears did not make for a good outlet.  
  
Still, she was mostly annoyed with herself. Vista’s request wasn’t too unreasonable, even if it showed how much of a spoiled brat she was. Just so long as the girl didn’t take this as an invitation to bother her more in the future, she could live with it.  
  
“This one should work, right?” Vista asked, holding up a pot this time. The saucepan and wok had already been nixed.  
  
“It can hold water?” Sophia replied.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“And it can fit her in?”  
  
“I’ll make it.”  
  
“Then it’s good enough.”  
  
The two walked back towards the showers, cargo in tow. Irritatingly, they had to pass the other Wards.  
  
“You know, Stalker, I made enough for everyone. You’re welcome to join us,” Gallant called out as they passed. The three boys were digging into their meals.  
  
“If I want any, I’ll grab a plate,” Sophia replied. She didn’t want to get caught up in this. The only good thing about being a Ward was that it gave her a space where people knew not to interrupt her. She could lock her door, slip on headphones, and pretend nobody cared. If she had to start suppressing herself here the way she did at home, she’d go nuts.  
  
So when Vista came to a stop in front of her and started chatting to the boys, Sophia trudged right on past. After pulling together the supplies they’d need, she spent the next few minutes awkwardly leaning against one of the shower cubicles, baby in hand.  
  
“Host Identity Protocol.”  
  
“Didn’t we just do this?” Sophia rolled her eyes before taking the hand again. “Christ, you’ve got to learn to be less strange. Otherwise you’ll grow up in a lab somewhere. Could be that’d be your best shot, actually. Things are rough out there,” she tickled at Proton’s chin, briefly.  
  
The kid was unusual, that was for sure. Even putting aside the more glaring signs, she didn’t behave quite like her siblings had. It was curious. Made her wonder what had caused it.  
  
She could remember a time, years ago now, when she’d wanted to find out how people worked. To know why they made the decisions they did, how they became who they were.  
  
She remembered saving up her allowance to buy a couple of thick psychology textbooks, second and third hand. They hadn’t been very good. Impractical, overly wordy, out of date; all around just a terrible introduction to the subject. But she’d read them cover to cover anyway. Almost failed English that semester because of it. She’d been busy, looking for something. An explanation. Or maybe just distraction.  
  
Either way, her searching had come to a hard stop.  
  
Now she knew better; things were the way they were, and no amount of wishing or complaining would change that. Even if things didn’t make sense, she had to accept them anyway if she wanted to actually change anything. Take on the world on its terms, not her own.  
  
She didn’t have the textbooks anymore.  
  
One or another of her siblings probably had them squirrelled away, come to think of it. Unless they had been pawned off. Didn’t really matter at this point. It was fine for the kids to hold onto their naïve views for now. Even most adults didn’t seem to have it figured out, so she couldn’t say they were particularly stupid. Didn’t mean she’d let them grow up blind though.  
  
She’d make sure to give them a proper explanation when they were older. And while she went to the trouble of being a halfway decent sister in the meantime, when she could, that didn’t mean she had to play overly nice.  
  
All the same, it was almost painful to think about kids having to learn too young. Being confronted with hard truths could hurt. Especially if you couldn’t understand them. Looking down to the girl in her arms, it was hard to see how someone so small could possibly be able to make sense of whatever it was they’d gone through.  
  
She rubbed gently at Proton’s hairline, their mutual stares only disconnecting when Vista finally came through the door.  
  
“If you want my help, don’t go getting distracted,” Sophia said, turning to the younger Ward.  
  
“I wasn’t distracted. I was hungry, just wanted a quick bite.”  
  
“Yeah, sure. The food. What, you like chefs or something?”  
  
“I mean it, it was the food!”  
  
“Fine. Guess I was wrong. Good thing too, since I’m sure as hell not giving you any tips on boys. Get the bath sorted.”  
  
Sophia had to bite back a sigh as Vista deflated slightly. The girl was far too easy to read, it’d get her hurt someday.  
  
Depositing the pot in the base of the shower, Vista used her power to expand it out until it was large enough to pass as a bathtub. As they filled the tub with soapy water, Proton’s occasional mutterings trailed off. By the time they were done Proton was quivering just looking at the water, like a cat who knew what was coming. Sophia ran a hand through the young girl’s hair; the soothing gesture brought back enough grime to stop her doubts.  
  
Proton shook more as she was placed gently in the enlarged pot.  
  
“What’s wrong, Proton?” Vista asked, half-directing it to Sophia.  
  
There was no babbling, no words. Her little mouth moved, teeth almost chattering, but made no sounds. Instead, she looked up at them imploringly, tears forming in her eyes. Sophia didn’t know quite what to make of the whole display.  
  
“Must be scared. We’ll just do a quick wash, dry her off, then scrub her by hand if we need to.”  
  
As she knelt down and leaned in, washcloth in hand, Proton disappeared with a flash. Sophia didn’t have time to wonder about it before the electricity hit her.  
  
It rippled, popping like bubbles, practically bouncing between the sides of the makeshift bath as it filled the water. As the pain tore through Sophia, it was all she could to stop herself from instinctively shifting state. Her muscles spasmed hard as she tried to pull away, her left hand’s grip involuntarily tightening around the lip of the pot and jerking it along with her. Her fingers dipped into the sputtering water, pumping liquid fire up her arm, a thousand pins shoving themselves through her bones. It was worse than the time she’d asked Emma to tase her so she’d know how bad it could be. So much worse. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t breathe, could barely think. There was just the pain, instantaneous and unrelenting.  
  
Vista tackled her, putting distance between them and the sparking tub.  
  
Sophia barely noticed her shoulder and skull colliding with the tile, too focussed on the violent hum she could feel. She clawed at the floor with unresponsive fingers, desperate to pull herself away.  
  
The atrocious heat in her left arm was the last sensation to go when she lost consciousness.  
  


\-----

  
Armsmaster returned to a pleasantly quiet atmosphere, a drowsy baby, and one badly burnt pot. As Vista handled debriefing, Proton occasionally chimed affirmation from her seat in his arms. She smiled up at him but he noticed she was a little more clingy than before, wrapping her limbs around one of his forearms.  
  
“There’s one more thing. Shadow Stalker told me not to tell you but… it’s important. She got hurt pretty bad. By Proton.”  
  
“What did she do?” he asked, looking down at the girl in question.  
  
“Nothing bad! She was actually being helpful and kind of nice, and was teaching me stuff.”  
  
“I meant Proton. What did she do to Shadow Stalker?”  
  
“Oh, well, we were giving Proton a bath. And after we put her in the water, she… I don’t know, freaked out. Turned into electricity or something, and fried Stalker. Knocked her out for a bit. I did first aid; her arm is really nasty. Had to take her to medical. I think she’s worried about Proton being punished for it.”  
  
“And Proton was okay?”  
  
“Proton popped back up before Stalker did. Bathroom got a bit messy, and she was pretty upset for a while, but I don’t think there was any real harm done to her? She seemed more scared than anything, and I spent a while helping her calm down.”  
  
“I see.” He turned his head towards Proton, sighing. “Now what am I going to do with you?”  
  
“Host Identity Protocol.” A hand poked up at him.  
  
“Hmmm. A handshake?”  
  
“Yeah. She likes them.”  
  
But when he went to shake, Proton rejected it: “Nano.” The word was accompanied with a tiny nudge, pushing his hand in Vista’s direction.  
  
After a brief frown, Armsmaster extended his hand towards the heroine. Their height difference meant Vista’s arm was almost parallel to the floor when she reciprocated.  
  
“You must have made quite the impression on her. You handled yourself well today.”  
  
The rare praise caused a big grin. “Thanks! Um, before you go, take this,” she pulled a mass of construction paper out from one of her pockets. “It’s not the best or anything, but Proton helped me make it. Picked out colours and things. I figured she should have one.”  
  
Armsmaster gave the mask a cursory inspection. It certainly wasn’t up to his normal standards for armour, but Proton shouldn’t need any equipment that was. And there was a certain charm to it, he supposed.  
  
Placing it on Proton’s face, he received a giggle in return.  
  
Yes, it would do.


	7. Paternity

Colin was more tired than he’d been in weeks. 330 minutes of sleep had not been enough after the day he’d had. But he was used to it. Had operated under worse conditions for longer periods.  
  
What he wasn’t used to, was childcare. The Wards were the closest he came to it, but they were mostly teenagers. And that was in a strictly professional context. Proton existed outside of those bounds.  
  
After taking a moment to settle himself, he unlatched Proton’s container from his motorcycle and opened it. Its expected inhabitant seemed pleased to see him, raising her arms to make it easier for him to lift her. He glanced at the remains of the printer he’d asked her to occupy for the trip before closing the crate back up. The device didn’t much resemble its original state; he’d definitely have to find a more sustainable solution if he was going to keep ferrying her around. Thankfully, the padding was still holding up, so it would do in the meantime.  
  
Taking the girl in one arm and her temporary home in the other, he proceeded up through the PHQ. Proton’s gaze roamed around the interior as they went, and Colin found himself examining her in turn.  
  
Her new mask stood out against her skin, made of sky-blue construction paper layered upon itself to give depth. Work had clearly gone into it, for all that it was a simple design: a rectangular form squeezed slightly, with less curving than a common domino mask. Only a small amount of detailing had been done; a few straight silver lines were drawn close to the edges to emphasize the boxy shape. Aside from the material, a scaled-up version wouldn’t look too out of place under his own helmet – except for the pieces of string pulled around Proton’s ears to hold it up.  
  
The mask’s edges were smooth, far neater than he’d expect from regular scissors. Too neat, in fact. Vista mostly used her powers for large-scale effects, manipulating the battlefield, but here was evidence that she also practiced more fine-grained techniques. It would serve her well in the future, particularly in situations where her power was dampened by people being in close proximity to one another. Hostage scenarios, riots, or anything necessitating her to engage in close-quarters combat…  
  
He really ought to check in on her development at some point.  
  
As Colin made a mental note to do just that, ideas began to pop into his head. Ways to reorder the construction of his helmet, inserting shrunken parts behind pre-positioned ones to cut down on long-term maintenance. Technical work made easier by distorting an edge or three. Specialised components that could resist spatial snapback if placed with sufficient precision, to eke out a little extra room in his halberd. Better power recycling, using non-Euclidean arrangements to redirect heat. Some vague notions of dramatic overhauls that could allow for limited imitation of Vista’s abilities, so long as he spent enough time tweaking things.  
  
He took a deep breath, calling upon his years of experience to release the thoughts from his mind; they could be brought back later, to be considered properly. He had more pressing concerns for the moment, and entering his workshop in this frame of mind would not go well. And with the possibility that Proton’s presence would force new concepts upon him, he’d have to make doubly sure.  
  
So, less than a dozen steps from his workshop, he turned on his heel and headed to the break room. His colleagues were remarkably good at distracting him. For once, he could turn that to his advantage.  
  
He didn’t even need to go the whole way before his decision paid dividends. Shortly after turning into the final hallway, a red blur left his destination, only coming to a stop a few feet from him.  
  
“Velocity,” he nodded.  
  
“Hey, good to see you,” Velocity replied. “And you must be Proton.”  
  
“Correct. Proton, this is Velocity. I imagine you might share his interest in languages, to some extent.”  
  
“Abuh,” Proton leaned back into his chest as she assessed the newcomer.  
  
“Always nice to meet a fellow linguist,” Velocity gave Proton a smile before looking back to Colin. “If you’re looking for a snack, stick to the cupboard. Fridge got fried again, hence why I’m heading out for fast food. I’d offer to grab you something, but we both know how that goes.”  
  
“I’ll let you go then. Is anyone else in?”  
  
“Yeah, but you’re fine, it’s just Battery. Ciao!”  
  
Proton blinked at where Velocity had been standing, peering left and right before looking askance at Colin.  
  
“Velocity is gone now, but he might come back. He can be very fast when he wants to be.”  
  
He kept moving on his way, placing the metallic box down once he was inside the door. The break room was a simple affair, not meant for extended relaxation. A mini-fridge sat in one corner, next to a bench with a row of chairs. Only one was occupied. The lone woman looked up at his arrival, her skin-tight black costume lit up with cobalt patterns that mimicked circuity.  
  
“Battery.”  
  
“Armsmaster. This is the kid I’ve been hearing so much about?”  
  
“I presume so. Battery, meet Proton. Proton, Battery. Another of my teammates. I’m afraid I don’t yet know enough about you to point out something you have in common with her.”  
  
He sat down next to Battery, placing Proton on the bench to form an equilateral triangle.  
  
“Battery!” Proton exclaimed.  
  
“What is it cutie?”  
  
“Battery, Armsmaster, Proton!” she proclaimed, clapping.  
  
“She may simply be happy to be able to say all of our names,” Colin thought aloud.  
  
“Right, the vocab thing. Well, I’m glad about that too. We can have proper talks when she’s a bit older, and names will certainly make that a lot easier.”  
  
Proton nodded, grasping at Battery’s hand before she could attempt any tickling.  
  
“Host Identity Protocol.”  
  
Even as Colin explained the meaning of the phrase to Battery, he noticed himself frowning slightly. He still hadn’t received a handshake. Not that it mattered – he must be more tired than he thought if he was being affected by such things. He pushed down what he felt when he watched Proton carry out her ritual with the heroine and, thankfully, had the opportunity to fix his expression before Battery addressed him again.  
  
“She takes after you, doesn’t she? The attitude, the mask. It’s very adorable, a real father-daughter duo.”  
  
Definitely more tired than he thought. “Could you repeat that?”  
  
When she did, he took a long second to respond.  
  
“Did- I’d have thought you would have read the memo I sent out about her?”  
  
“I was going to get to it this evening, with the rest of my emails. Assault gave me a summary. It wasn’t urgent, was it?”  
  
“No. But I am not related to Proton in any way.”  
  
“…Oh.”  
  
“Indeed.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“Not your fault.”  
  
“I’ll talk to him about it. Won’t happen again,” Battery promised, as she had the last time Assault caused problems for her.  
  
“Please do.”  
  
As the two lapsed into silence, he refocused himself on Proton. She had her brows pulled together beneath her mask. He wasn’t too certain about the emotion that signified in this case, but it would probably be best to provide her with something else to think about.  
  
“So… What happened to the fridge?” he asked, provoking a relieved sigh from Battery.  
  
“I swear, I accidentally knock out the fridge two or three times, ages ago, and I never hear the end of it.” Her voice didn’t carry any of the vehemence her words implied.  
  
“I didn’t mean to accuse you. Though perhaps if you were more decisive about your snacks, you wouldn’t need to worry about overcharging.”  
  
“Easy for you to say. I don’t think I’ve seen you eat more than three different meals in all my years here. And besides, it wasn’t me this time!”  
  
“Plausible. Though you have also said that when you were responsible for the fridge’s faults.”  
  
“Because I didn’t realise what was happening. Now that I know about the problem, I’m careful about it. Not my fault that the fridge is so crummy it needs constant fixing.”  
  
“Actually, I suspect you may be a factor. Our teammates have asked me to make small repairs to the fridge on multiple occasions, citing issues consistent with minor electromagnetic interference. Though you are correct that no major problems have occurred recently.”  
  
“You what? You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking.”  
  
“No. Do you have to get any of your home electronics repaired on a regular basis? Perhaps your phone?”  
  
“…Crud. I thought that was strange. But my suits-”  
  
“Were designed to be resilient.”  
  
“Double crud. You’re sure about the fridge thing?”  
  
“Yes. Well, I had better get back to my workshop. Pleasure talking to you.”  
  
“Come on, you can’t just drop that bomb and leave. What am I supposed to do about this?”  
  
Colin considered the question as he stood, drawing Proton’s attention – she lifted her arms up, anticipating his grip.  
  
“It is not an uncommon problem. I believe Velocity also suffered similar issues, accelerating during sleep and the like. You could discuss your power incontinence with him sometime.”  
  
“Ah geez. I mean, thanks for the tip but do you have to call it that?”  
  
“I think it the most accurate descriptor. If it makes you feel better, I believe we have found something you have in common with Proton.”  
  
“Wait,” she dashed in front of him as he moved to the door, her costume’s circuits depowering when she used her charge. “Ok, first, that really doesn’t help at all. Second, I still feel bad about that gaffe earlier. Let me make it up to you, there’s got to be something I can do to help with Proton."  
  
A second set of hands would be useful. Essential, even, for some of what he had intended. And she was one of his preferred colleagues to work with, questionable relationship choices aside. It would be foolish to turn her down.  
  
“Alright. I’m going to clean her up, and then we’ll be doing some basic safety analysis. You’ll want to grab some rubber gloves.”


	8. Childproofing

As Colin entered his workshop, he was filled with a faint sense of unease. His sanctuary of productivity was a death-trap. He’d done the bare minimum, but further childproofing would be necessary if Proton was going to be present for an extended period. And now that she was actually here, he was noticing more and more vulnerabilities.  
  
Why were there so many unrounded edges? They weren’t necessary most of the time.  
  
Placing Proton on the centremost table and raising its rails for her safety, he considered how to proceed. She did need to be cleaned – if not now, then in the future. Having a method that didn’t cause her to lose control over her power would be necessary. There were a few places to attack the problem, though the best choice was somewhat dependent on the root cause. It could be primarily mental; he could guess as to why she might have a strong emotional response to bathing, given the state of the bathroom in the wire-filled house she’d inhabited. It was also possible that her power simply interacted poorly with water. Either way, he would work around it.  
  
Distilled water. All the benefits of regular water with less conductivity.  
  
Sponges. A different mode of delivery, differentiating the experience from her past and exposing less surface area to moisture at any one time.  
  
And distraction. Giving her something else to focus on would be a good idea.  
  
This wouldn’t be too hard.  
  
He felt a rumble in one of his pocket compartments. A long burst followed by two short ones –Dragon was calling. Non-urgent. There were a few possibilities as to why; their last conversation, if the interview could even be called that, had not gone terribly well.  
  
He declined the call, putting his new phone back in its slot. He’d have to clean up the mess he’d made, but impromptu conversations were not one of his strengths. There was too much risk that he’d make a critical error, especially with his social programs out of commission. He’d call her back later, but he’d need to plan for it.  
  
And right now, someone else was occupying his attention. Proton sat patiently, looking up at him with eyes free of judgement. They turned slightly fearful as the wet sponge approached her torso, causing him to pause.  
  
Right. Distraction. Conversation usually did the trick for him.  
  
“So, Proton, I have this friend…” he began, his voice pulling her attention as the sponge dabbed at her foot with barely a spark.  
  


\-----

  
Iris had finished off her second bowl of lukewarm cereal, read half of the memo about Proton, and scrounged around under the sink for some gloves. Now she just had to lug the mini-fridge upstairs. The cursed thing was just a tad too unwieldy for her to comfortably carry without her charge.  
  
Hence why she was putting it down every couple of seconds. Or sometimes dropping it. She had mixed feedback for whoever designed the HQ: the floorplan was hell to memorise, but she was thankful they’d sprung for good, blast-resistant floors.  
  
Charge, lift, walk, lower, repeat. The monotonous procedure gave her time to think, and to cool her head.  
  
She hated letting her boss down. Not quite as much as she had back in New York, but Legend was hard to top – incredible displays of power coupled with charisma as thick as his biceps, just an all-around amazing hero. You only had to work with the guy once to see why he fit in the Triumvirate.  
  
Armsmaster was a whole other deal. He was self-made, as much as that could apply to any parahuman, the honed product of experience and dedicated self-improvement rather than winning the power lottery. A mostly normal, squishy man (albeit one in impeccable shape) who fought superpowered monsters in a homemade tin-suit, and had managed to survive – and often, to win – for almost as long as she’d been alive.  
  
People didn’t necessarily get along with him, but nobody could argue that he’d gotten his position through politicking. He did great things.  
  
And Iris, for the most part, didn’t. Though she didn’t think she actually wanted his level of drive. Most of what she’d set out to do, she’d done. Not always quite how she’d planned, but by and large she met her goals and was happy with her life and career.  
  
And yet there were still days that she felt like a fraud compared to him, standing still too long as he kept moving forwards. He’d already been established when she and Ethan had transferred to Brockton Bay, and while she’d built herself up as competent that gap had never really shrunk. For all the times she’d seen his face, she’d only ever caught glimpses of the man behind the mask, behind the work.  
  
So she was extra careful not to drop the fridge when she got to his workshop.  
  
It was a rare thing to be tolerated inside, and the place had changed a bit since she was there last. Workbenches filled the space just as they had previously, each one distinct in a few ways she could spot and doubtlessly many more she couldn’t, but they’d been moved around to accommodate different projects. The incomplete frame of one of his alternate halberd models sat on a multi-layered bench in the nearest corner, half-assembled components springing out of it like a futuristic Swiss Army knife. A paper-thin tube descended from a container on the layer above to deliver a slow-moving and uncomfortably dark liquid into the frame’s midsection.  
  
Everything about its setup was spick and span, and the same could be said of most of the room. Iris hadn’t been in too many tinker labs, but it’d be easy to convince her that most weren’t kept to the same standards. Her own office certainly wasn’t.  
  
Proton, it seemed, would soon fit right in. The girl had received a thorough scrubbing, her skin practically shining as she beamed up at Armsmaster. He, in turn, was smiling down at her as he used a towel to gently pat her hair dry.  
  
It was odd to see him like that.  
  
He looked up as Iris placed the fridge on a nearby bench, giving Proton’s scalp one last rub.  
  
“Battery. Not there, please. There’s an indented zone by the opposite wall.”  
  
Sure enough, there was a shallow depression in the floor. It only descended a thumb’s depth but covered an area that could comfortably fit two people lying side by side.  
  
Having finished tugging Proton’s shirt back on, Armsmaster carried her over and placed her on top of the fridge.  
  
“You remember what I told you?” He asked Proton, face serious as he crouched down to meet her eye level.  
  
“Proton!”  
  
“Good,” his lips returned to their smiling state for a moment. “Just give me a minute to start the scan.”  
  
Armsmaster hooked his hand into the steel wall next to a group of screens and panels, and proceeded to pull a clear protective screen straight out of it. Even having seen this sort of thing before, Iris was surprised at just how sleek his tech could be – she never would have guessed it was there.  
  
He ran it along the edge of the depression, where it flowed like it was on rails, and back into the wall on the other side. Proton was sealed off, floor to ceiling. At the press of a button on a nearby panel, a thick foam was extruded from pores lining the side of the indentation until the area around the fridge was level with the rest of the floor. Diagrams and graphs filled the screens, updating in real time.  
  
Armsmaster was evidently satisfied, giving Proton the go-ahead and watching the graphs jump as she merged into the fridge. Iris, meanwhile, was busy blinking the light out of her eyes.  
  
By the time she refocussed her attention, the fridge was buzzing something fierce.  
  
“You’re sure this is safe?” Iris asked. The screen was awfully thin. It barely muted the sound at all.  
  
“The sensors are properly calibrated. If there’s any danger, we’ll know.”  
  
They lapsed into silence, Armsmaster fixed on the screens while Iris tried to find something that she could make heads or tails of. After a while, he fingered one of the many graphs.  
  
“Look here, you see those spikes? She’s Clausius-inconsistent. Not entirely unexpected, but still notable.”  
  
“Okay. And what does that actually mean?”  
  
“Right, jargon…” he cleared his throat, frowning. “Put simply, Proton appears to violate thermodynamic laws. Specifically, she’s producing energy from nothing, providing power to the fridge. Happens with plenty of capes, and some tinker tech too. Though she would be a better power source than most.”  
  
“Tell me you aren’t going to plug her into anything.”  
  
“…No. No, of course not. Just an observation.” There was no obvious sign of shame there, but he sounded distant. What was he thinking about?  
  
“I’ll bite then. Why would she be so good?”  
  
“She’s diffused throughout the system. Providing power to each component directly, occupying essentially no space. There’s almost certainly some sort of limit on her ability to spread, but the fridge is well within her range.”  
  
His finger waved from point to point as he continued speaking, “Though you’ll notice that she’s primarily targeting vulnerabilities. The bulk of her early energy dispersal was focused around several of the least resilient points in the entire system. And even now, sections that are unmaintained, shoddily repaired, or on the brink of failure are clearly receiving more attention than the relatively secure spots.”  
  
Clearly. Iris didn’t have the first clue how she was supposed to notice something like that. Or maybe it was obvious? Maybe she would actually know what one of the graphs meant if any of the labels weren’t abbreviations or acronyms.  
  
“It’s remarkable in some ways,” Armsmaster spoke up again. “Being able to locate and exploit vulnerabilities that quickly would be invaluable for dealing with villainous tinkers. But by the same token, friendly tech has to work around that. I’d probably have to design things specifically with Proton in mind in order to avoid her breaking them over time. Whatever she’s doing to the fridge, she’s making it much more fragile.”  
  
“Whatever she’s doing? You mean you don’t know?” Iris asked.  
  
He gave her a strange look in response. “Of course not. I’m a tinker, not a mind-reader. I can give you a guess, but what you’re asking is akin to looking at a wheel and knowing the vehicle it’ll be attached to. I can tell you it won’t go on a bike or a boat, but I don’t know which car it’s for.  
  
“Besides,” he continued, “if I knew, we wouldn’t have to test it.”  
  
“Alright, so what can you tell me?”  
  
“Well, I’ll have to analyse it more thoroughly later, but I’m confident that she’s adjusting the fridge’s internals through the application of electricity, nudging things around and creating several rather complex circuits. She’s definitely not being as passive as her previous occupations, but I’m not sure if this is actually less destructive than her previous efforts or just delaying the inevitable. This isn’t a complicated device, but around half of what she’s doing looks like it’s aimed at preventing the whole thing from falling apart or exploding.”  
  
Iris took a step back at that. She had plenty to think about already, she didn’t really need to watch things up close.  
  
She stayed a fair distance away for all the time it took for Proton to finish up. It took a lot longer than she’d expected, long enough that she managed to interrogate Armsmaster for an explanation of a few of the simpler diagrams. She was content with her appraisal that very little of what he’d said was actually self-evident.  
  
Proton reappeared with a flash and a crash. The fridge’s door had blown off as Proton exited, denting the screen. Electricity arced from side to side in the revealed interior. The buzzing sound continued, louder than before, even as the baby on top of the fridge yawned loudly.  
  
Armsmaster pulled back the screen, carefully leaning over to pick her up when she lazily raised her arms at him.  
  
“That was tiring, huh? You did well,” he said, “I’m going to have to rethink some of the tests, but this is good progress. The next few should go much quicker. Then we can take you to the hospital for a check-up, okay?”  
  
A second rumbling sound joined the fray alongside the fridge’s occasional vibrations, and Armsmaster pulled out his phone.  
  
“I need to take this. Battery, could you hold her a moment?”  
  
Proton pouted as she was transferred over. Armsmaster grabbed a halberd with his free hand, using it to cautiously poke at the mini-fridge as he mumbled into his phone.  
  
As he prodded the fridge’s side, the internal patterns changed. The horizontal bursts began to swirl around the entirety of the fridge’s inner walls, running from the front to the back to the front, where a few stray sparks danced out and into the foam. Strange to think that the child trying to wiggle out of her grip had done that. It was intricate, almost entrancing.  
  
And it wasn’t plugged into anything. Iris was no expert, but didn’t that mean the arcs should stop sometime soon? There wasn’t anything producing electricity now that Proton was out, right? She looked down at the girl squirming uncomfortably in her black-and-blue arms.  
  
Armsmaster hung up, taking Proton back with little fanfare; she calmed down almost immediately.  
  
“Well,” he gestured to the fridge, “I suppose I’ll have to figure out what to do with that at some point.”  
  
“Yeah, I’m not going to be any help with that. And I’m kind of surprised you have a phone, honestly.”  
  
“I usually don’t, but this helmet’s somewhat outdated. It was the PRT calling. There’s a new prospective ward, goes by Browbeat. He’s heading in right now to discuss joining up. Should be an easy sell but they want a Protectorate member along to help seal the deal.”  
  
Iris smiled. New members were always good news, even Wards – even Shadow Stalker joining up was probably net-positive, if only to keep her out of trouble. And maybe this would be good for Armsmaster, too. He wasn’t exactly drowning in goodwill.  
  
“Browbeat. That’s the vigilante, right?”  
  
“Right.”  
  
He glanced down at Proton, who was currently preoccupied with tucking her head into his chest.  
  
“Can I ask you a favour?”


	9. Incubator

Amy’s evening was going well. Not that it was a good day – those were few and far between – but it was definitely better than average.  
  
She was being escorted by one of her favourite nurses. Nancy wasn’t as nosy as most of the hospital’s staff, preferring to hang back and scribble in a little notebook whenever she could get away with it. One of their early ventures together, back when Amy had just started out, had resulted in Nancy becoming almost violently ill. The woman could handle normal medical procedures just fine but seeing someone’s bones reshape themselves in the open air before burrowing back under the skin was too much, apparently. Ever since then, Nancy had made sure to give Amy space. In fairness, that had been back before Carol had impressed the importance of proper bedside manner upon Amy.  
  
But she didn’t need bedside manner here.  
  
With her urgent cases done for the day, she was doing a round among the premature infants. Lots of little health problems to fix. Most parents were willing to sign off ahead of time for pretty much anything Amy was capable of doing to their package of DNA and dreams. No talking, no delays, just a direct trip from patient to patient.  
  
As Amy modified an infant’s kidneys, she whispered to it. Low enough that Nancy wouldn’t hear.  
  
“You’re really pathetic. What are you going to contribute to society? Nothing. You’ll lay about your whole life, change nothing of importance, and then die.”  
  
The lights flickered overhead as she reached her next patient. Then they shut off entirely. Great. Good thing she didn’t need to see what she was doing, so long as she maintained contact with the patient. Its biology was temporarily seared into her brain, a map unfolding in her memory as though it had always been there. She still had to explore it, look over the capillary waterways and the tendinous mountains, to make sure the landscape was healthy, but it was easy to navigate.  
  
She didn’t start making any changes yet. If she had to go elsewhere due to the power outage, it could be hard to stop halfway done.  
  
In all likelihood the blackout wouldn’t be too bad. So long as Nancy’s pager didn’t go off in the next few minutes, Amy probably wouldn’t be needed for any lifesaving right away – there’d be some safety check-ups later, but nothing very time-consuming.  
  
The power came back on. Backup generators supplied a dim hum in the background as the lights winked to life again, a few at a time.  
  
She gave Nancy a minute to get back to her journal as she scanned the infant’s physiology for flaws. The nurse’s absentminded mumbling was a little annoying, but it was easy to put up with compared to the constant smothering some of the staff put her through. Their hearts were in the right place, but that didn’t make it any less irritating. Quite the opposite, in some ways.  
  
“Honestly, the world would probably be a better place if I just let your lungs fuck up.”  
  
They didn’t get it. It didn’t matter much if they took a day off. They were replaceable.  
  
“You’d probably thank me too, actually.”  
  
But Amy wasn’t. Not easily, at least – she wasn’t sure how many doctors she was worth, exactly, but it was a lot.  
  
“I mean it’s not like anyone’s really going to like you. You’re predisposed to being incapable. A buffoon. Everyone’s going to laugh at you.”  
  
And she alleviated economic burden too. Medical stays could be expensive; her aid was worth millions, easily. She’d done some back of the envelope math once, worked out that on some of her more productive days she might save patients six figures over the long-term.  
  
“You’re going to be ugly too, you know. Just to rub it in.”  
  
And to some patients, ones who couldn’t get safe treatment any other way, she was considered priceless. How could she take time off if it meant consigning people to suffering?  
  
“I could change that. But I won’t. Your parents want you to look like them, after all.”  
  
And it wasn’t just temporary pain. She’d thought that way when she started making hospital visits, when she was only coming in for a few hours on the weekends.  
  
“Besides, I’m already doing enough for you. You don’t deserve it.”  
  
She’d always dealt with the most urgent cases, was even called in on occasion. Triage meant she got to the people who needed her. And it also meant that every person she treated freed up medical resources for someone else, someone with less pressing need.  
  
“But hey, at least you’ll think that people care about who you are on the inside.”  
  
Without her, most of the people she treated would probably still be alive. They’d be treated by someone else. Knowing that made the whole affair feel pointless, in some ways.  
  
“Until you realise that nobody cares about that either. That they only care about how you make them feel. That who you are doesn’t matter one bit.”  
  
But without her, treatment got delayed for people lower on the priority list. There was more suffering. Expected lifespans were shortened, however slightly, across the entire medical system. How was robbing ten thousand people of a day any different from cutting one person’s life short by years?  
  
“No. No, they’ll be far too concerned with what you can do for them. Some of them, the desperate ones, they’ll play suck up all you want, but you’ll know it’s never real.”  
  
How many people had been chewed up by that slow, grinding machine? How many death warrants had she inadvertently signed, simply by not showing up every day?  
  
“You’ll be nothing to them. Like how you’re nothing right now. A bit of potential that’ll inevitably disappoint your parents.”  
  
And people were so damn grateful, just because she wasn’t a complete monster who let people die. Did that say something about them, and their values? Or about her?  
  
“And right now, you can’t even do that. You couldn’t stop me from doing anything either. I could ruin your life fifty different ways, things that wouldn’t happen for years, and nobody would ever know.”  
  
In any case, she was going to make the most of this opportunity.  
  
“I could tear out those tiny slivers of happiness you’re going to get. Cripple your future.”  
  
Use this time to get some things off her chest.  
  
“Take away what you can do, and what are you?”  
  
She didn’t care if her words made sense. That wasn’t the point.  
  
“You’re fucking worthless.”  
  
She was just letting out some of her emotions for a bit, redirecting them towards someone who wouldn’t be hurt by their acidity.  
  
“How could anyone ever love you?”  
  
Harmless catharsis.  
  
“Panacea,” a voice called her name, from behind her. Far too close.  
  
She whirled around, pulling away from the incubator. Armsmaster was right there.  
  
Fuck. Why was he here? How hadn’t she noticed him? His boots were made of some sort of metal, he couldn’t be that quiet. Fuck, if he’d heard her, her life was over. He’d just have to mention it to someone, even just an offhand comment, and it’d spread from there, Carol would find out and Vicky would hate her and she’d have to live on the street or in the fucking hospital-  
  
“Panacea,” Armsmaster repeated.  
  
“Hello,” she managed, “what can I do for you?”  
  
“I realise this is off schedule, but I need your expertise. Full health check-up for a new parahuman.”  
  
“Where are they?”  
  
“Here. This is Proton,” he replied, looking down at the baby in his arms. The one that had been there the whole time. Right. She needed to get a grip. Stop panicking. She didn’t know that he’d heard her. Besides, Armsmaster was pretty tight-lipped. He didn’t go for the small talk some of the other heroes put her through when they requested healing. If there was anyone in the Protectorate that could keep a secret, it was him. Maybe.  
  
“She’s quite tired at the moment, so I was hoping to make this quick if possible.”  
  
“Right,” Amy refocussed on the patient in front of her. Proton looked woozy, her head swaying and her eyes barely open. “Anything you already know about?”  
  
“Nothing serious externally. Vital signs nominal, but not much clue about her internals. There was an issue when we tried to get her an MRI; Proton reacted poorly to the magnetic forces involved.”  
  
Proton’s chin started to quiver, twisting away from Armsmaster’s gaze to look at the floor.  
  
Armsmaster sighed, pushing his hand through her hair. “I’m not blaming you for what happened. If anyone is at fault, it’s me. I shouldn’t have left you alone in there. Or with the technician afterwards.”  
  
He looked back to Amy, expectantly. She really wasn’t in the right frame of mind to process the implications of what he’d said.  
  
“Do I have your permission to heal her or is this just for a report?” she asked Armsmaster.  
  
“You can ask her,” he nodded in Proton’s direction. “I should make it clear, before you begin, that her language comprehension is on par with a much older child.”  
  
Amy smiled weakly. He’d definitely heard her earlier. He’d been way too careful with his words to have not heard her. Fuck.  
  
“Um. Normally I need a guardian’s consent when I’m working with minors this young.”  
  
A frown came over Armsmaster’s face. “I’ll vouch for you if necessary.”  
  
“That’s not quite… You know what, fine. Okay. Proton, do I have your permission to heal you?”  
  
Bleary little eyes focused on Amy, filled with tears, tiredness, and suspicion. After a moment they craned upwards to look at Armsmaster.  
  
“Fix?” Proton asked.  
  
He gave a quick nod. Proton tilted herself back to look at Amy before giving a sleepy nod of her own.  
  
“Proton.”  
  
“She’ll take the healing. You can go ahead now,” Armsmaster translated.  
  
Amy reached out to touch a foot, and Proton’s map unfurled before her. It was mostly normal, all the important organs were there, though there were some spots of concern. Going a touch deeper revealed broken walkways. Still functional, for the most part, but overly narrow. Some of the routes were more roundabout than they should be.  
  
“There’s some nerve damage. Mostly in her extremities. Give me a few minutes.”  
  
The fixes weren’t difficult, but Amy was restricted in the material she could safely draw upon. She took a little extra time just to calm down, spending longer than necessary to make minor tweaks. And while she tried to avoid even glancing at the brain, she could tell that Proton was stressed too. Some temporary adjustments to the girl’s endocrine system would help with that, stimulating hormones to help her relax. Once done, she relinquished her grip.  
  
“She’s a bit malnourished. My healing will exacerbate that, so make sure she’s fed regularly unless you want her growth to be stunted. It might already be, actually – my power’s not the best at telling ages, but I think she’s a little older than she looks. Maybe 10 or 11 months.”  
  
“I see. Thank you.”  
  
“No trouble. That’s what I’m here for.”  
  
“Really. Thank you. I know you weren’t scheduled to see her anytime soon, and nerves aren’t terribly easy for me to work with. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to repay the favour.”  
  
“Yeah, uh, you’re welcome,” Amy relented. That usually got people to stop. “Actually. There is one thing. Could you not tell anyone about anything you heard in here? I’ve just had a long day, you know. Relieving some stress. And we can call it even?”  
  
“I don’t recall hearing anything sensitive,” he shrugged. “I’ll have to put your diagnosis in a report though, that’s non-negotiable.”  
  
He hadn’t heard any of it. Or was a better liar than she thought. Either way, it was one less problem, although Amy now felt like a moron for getting so worked up about it. But she could self-flagellate after she was done feeling relieved.  
  
“Yeah, yeah that’s fine. Didn’t mean that bit.”  
  
Armsmaster held Proton close to his chest. She softened against him, and Amy imagined that his armour might be thin enough for the girl to hear his heartbeat.  
  
She watched the pair as Armsmaster turned to leave, gently cradling the infant. It’d been a long time since anyone had held Amy with that sort of care. Vicky was the only person who offered her comfort these days, and she tended towards the boisterous sort of hugging.  
  
When he glanced back from the doorway, Armsmaster’s eyes narrowed at her, barely visible behind his visor, and his head tilted ever so slightly. She’d been staring. She just kept screwing up today.  
  
“Would you like…” he started to speak. Paused. Reconsidered. Discomfort crawled into his body language as he finalised his question. “Would you find a hug helpful?”  
  
“I- What?” Amy’s answer was almost a squawk. That hadn’t been the reprimand she expected.  
  
“No, then. I apologise if my misreading of the situation has caused you discomfort. Thanks again, and goodbye.”  
  
“It’s fine. See you later, I guess.”  
  
“Goo’night,” Proton murmured, a hand poking out from behind Armsmaster to give a half-hearted wave as he strode out the door.  
  
Amy got back to work, her mind continuing to whir in the aftermath of the interaction. Things weren’t as bad as she’d initially thought. And Vicky might find it funny once she worked out which bits she could safely tell. There was a lot that could still go wrong. But maybe, if everything went just right, it’d end up being a good day after all.  
  
She made her way through the rest of her patients without whispering to a single one.


	10. Baby Food

Proton woke up surrounded by softness.  
  
Aside from that, it’s a familiar situation – the room is dark, with faint buzzing sounds hinting at machinery just out of sight. For a minute, it seems that she might be in time-out again. She used to like her time alone, but she doesn't want that anymore; she can feel the panic creeping up on her, tears pushing to the forefront of her bleary eyes.  
  
She wriggles around, seeking clues, and the softness shifts with her, moulding itself to her back, her arms, her legs. Her hands and feet flinch away from the spongy surface, unused to the degree of sensation.  
  
A flicker of light catches her attention. It’s enough to briefly illuminate her surrounds: the thin wooden bars surrounding her, the benches a little further out, the equipment, the works-in-progress. The safety seal is still extended, a sheet of dark cloth stretched across it to conceal the fridge she worked on. The makeshift shade doesn’t quite extend to one side, and while the spark fades away it’s not too long before another finds the edge and provides another dose of dim light.  
  
As she continues to look around, Proton becomes more confident that she's in a safe place. She knows, more or less, where she is, and that calms her. The workshop is different with the lights out, but she's still with Armsmaster.  
  
She relaxes, letting herself sink slightly into the spot Armsmaster made for her. It feels similar to being wrapped in his helmet, even without pushing herself all the way inside it. Fine fibres take the place of fuzzy electricity, both yielding to her movement and providing a secure base.  
  
Despite her newfound security, the momentary rush of fear is not so easily overcome. She lies there, eyes shut, unable to fall back to sleep.  
  
And then she hears it, rolling out of the darkness. The considered tones that had done so much for her. His pace is slower than usual, quiet words flowing like tired treacle.  
  
“Dragon. Sorry to call so late.”  
  
There’s a pause. A response she can’t hear.  
  
“No, nothing so serious. Though I could use some input. Advice, maybe. I think I’ve made a few mistakes lately.”  
  
“They seem connected, to my mind. There are a few facets to the problem that I’m finding hard to differentiate. Pushing Proton too hard, mostly. Rushing to get things done.”  
  
“Okay. I can do that. You’ve reviewed her results?”  
  
“Right. Passed out in my arms before I could get her to bed.”  
  
“Right again.”  
  
“That could work. Hmmm. What do you think of the difference between the third and fifth trials? The variance in catalytic clusters? I’m increasingly convinced that she’s better able to work with tinker-made products than mundane equivalents. Fits some datapoints from outside the lab as well.”  
  
“But there’s an argument to be made that her improvements would be more accurately classified as sabotage. Her disruptive capacities are certainly remarkable.”  
  
“That’s probably true but let me send you my observations on the hospital blackout. It spread quite a distance.”  
  
Proton shrinks back into the softness at that. She knows that she made some mistakes at the hospital. She’d tried to control herself, but it was especially hard when she was so sleepy. The big thing they’d put her in had tried to knock the language out of her head, so she didn’t feel as bad about it as she did about zapping Shadow Stalker. But Armsmaster had been unhappy. Not mad, somehow, but worried. And she didn’t want that.  
  
But she didn’t want to lose the words either. Things would be a lot harder to understand if she lost them. And sometimes people said things that made her feel warm, like a hug made from words.  
  
“Really? That’s fantastic news!” The hushed exclamation brings her attention back to the phone call.  
  
“I can hardly remember how long ago I applied for approval. Thankfully, I’ve already started the loading process, otherwise I’d be out another couple of weeks.”  
  
“Yes, those possibilities exist. But I’m more confident in this than I was in the first nanobranch expansion system. And Lung’s the primary use case; I can live with putting him at risk.”  
  
“In any case, it’s great to hear. Thanks for letting me know.”  
  
“No. Come on, you can’t ask me that,” he chuckled, “That’s not fair compensation. I’m already embarrassed enough you found out about that without you actually reading the thing.”  
  
“It was a bit foolish anyway. Matsuo Basho I am not.”  
  
“Well I guess you’ll have to wait and see. On another note, what was that book you wanted to recommend?”  
  
The conversation continues ever onwards, tracing a jagged path from subject to subject. Proton loses track of both the topics and the time, slipping in and out of restfulness. Even hearing only one side of the chatter, it feels familiar. The good sort of familiar. Soothing.  
  
“I’ll call again tomorrow. Still need to work out a new nutritional plan.”  
  
“Ha, likewise. Don’t be too harsh on yourself.”  
  
“Yes, alright then.”  
  
Proton recognises the pattern. She mouths along to the last words he says, the ones she heard so many times when she was learning.  
  
“Goodnight, Dragon.”  
  
And she finally falls back to sleep.  
  


\-----

  
Colin looked up from his lunch. Proton was pulling at his wrist, her fingers spread as far around his limb as they could go.  
  
“Still hungry?”  
  
“Proton!”  
  
“You didn’t finish your carrots. Want more asparagus instead?”  
  
“Nano,” Proton pointed at the door, “Throughput?”  
  
He hummed thoughtfully, placing his own blended meal down next to her.  
  
“We can go find something else. But you really should eat your carrots, okay? They’ll help you grow up healthy.”  
  
Proton grew visibly excited as he put her mask on, reaching up to touch the material around her eyes as he looped the strings around her ears. Maybe he’d kept her in the workshop too long. He’d thought he was doing a decent job of keeping her involved, but it was possible that he’d gotten somewhat lost in his tinkering at points.  
  
He knew that most people were less willing than him to remain in one room throughout the day. And Proton didn’t have work to occupy her time; if she wanted some variety, losing a portion of his productivity over lunch was acceptable. Balancing his nutritious beverage and Proton’s plate in one hand, he scooped the girl up with the other.  
  
The walk to the break room was uneventful. The room’s inhabitants were not.  
  
Colin paused in the doorway, surprised by the sight before him. Miss Militia and Battery knelt on either side of the coffee table, arm-wrestling as Assault watched, their food moved just out of the hazard zone. The three of them were partially dressed in civilian clothing, jackets and pants clashing with the visible portions of their uniforms.  
  
Was this how things usually were at lunch?  
  
He took another moment to analyse the situation before heading towards the trio. He hadn’t been expecting so many people in the break room, but it was far from the worst possible combination of his co-workers. Colin’s evaluation was helped by his good mood; it wasn’t every day that he patched up a relationship and got a high-powered custom tranquiliser approved.  
  
Proton gave an exclamation of greeting as they approached, which was swiftly followed by Battery’s cry of victory as she drove Miss Militia’s muscular arm down next to their plates. Strange. He knew the heroine was aware enough to know he was there – the door squeaked, and his footsteps weren’t that quiet – so why had she been startled?  
  
“What are you doing?” he inquired to the group.  
  
“Hey Armsmaster, and hi cutie, nice of you both to join us,” Battery replied, “Unpowered arm-wrestling. Want to try your luck?"  
  
She claimed a victory high-five from Assault before pulling her sandwich back in front of her.  
  
“I’d have to go change, so no.”  
  
“How about you, Proton?” Assault asked, loosening up his shoulders, “I could go another round.”  
  
“I doubt it’ll be a problem, but don’t be too serious with her,” Colin sat Proton down on the table, just in front of Battery’s chair, before moving to the kitchen. He looked through the cupboard for ingredients – carrots were out, but plenty of other things could be mashed or sliced.  
  
“Hi Proton, dunno if you remember but we met the night you came in. I’m Assault. Alright, so stick your arm out, that’s it, now we grab each other and push. That’s the way. Oof, you’re pretty strong, aren’t you? But I can come back if I just- erg, if I just believe in myself and OHGODMYARM!”  
  
Colin spun back to view the table, ready to intervene, only to see Assault violently twist himself into the table, spinning off into a pratfall as he released Proton’s hand.  
  
Battery flicked her fallen partner in the head, “Don’t be so loud. You’ll frighten her.”  
  
Proton’s look of panic shifted into a giggle as Assault popped back up into a sitting position, pouting.  
  
“Why would you do that?” Colin sighed.  
  
“I’m playing the cool uncle. I figure you’ve got the stern father figure thing down pat, but she’s going to need someone fun in her life too.”  
  
“I can be fun.”  
  
“Of course, of course,” Assault climbed back to his feet, “When are you not fun? You know, I’ve started reading your reports now that Proton’s featuring in them and they are a hoot.”  
  
“What do you mean, ‘started’?” Colin asked as he turned back to the cupboard.  
  
Assault bulldozered past the question, “I mean, the dry, clinical descriptions of all the cute junk is positively gripping. I was thinking of putting up some quotes on the wall.”  
  
“It’s true that they’ve been more entertaining than usual,” Battery added “What’ve you two gotten up to today? We could get a preview.”  
  
“Not much,” he shrugged, grabbing a few tins, “Just some tinkering.”  
  
“How did Proton find that?”  
  
“She’s been watching. I think it entertained her; she liked the welding, at the very least. And she’s useful as a debugger.”  
  
“Really? How’d she manage that?” Much like yesterday, it seemed that Battery was a well of questions. These ones were easier to answer; chopping up a mixture of ingredients wasn’t a thought-consuming process.  
  
“She doesn’t actually do much. It’s more about her being there, and me talking through what I’m doing. Talking aloud forces you to work step-by-step, so it can reveal flaws in your own thinking. I know a number of tinkers that find it so useful they use inanimate stand-ins when people aren’t available. Talking to wrenches or rubber ducks, or robots. Some even develop rudimentary programs to discuss ideas with.”  
  
“Have you ever done that? Talked to a robot?”  
  
“No, I tried it a few times, but it didn’t take. For whatever reason, I’ve always found actual people more helpful. Not sure if it’s due to power differences or just a matter of personality. Either way, Proton’s doing an alright job.”  
  
“Huh, you know…” Battery’s tone turned playful, if he was judging correctly, “between that and seeing all the tests you ran, I’m not sure if tinkers are crazier than the rest of us or just a different type of nuts.”  
  
“Bit of both, probably,” he smiled. He and Dragon had had more than a few late-night musings about the differences between tinkers and other parahumans; the intensive need for preparation wasn’t exclusive to tinkers, but it created a stark divide in some ways. A different lifecycle, of sorts.  
  
Battery turned to Assault, flicking his head again, “Maybe you can find a rubber ducky to talk to about your paperwork, next time.”  
  
“Hey now,” he grinned as he rubbed at his forehead, “I listened to your recruitment woes.”  
  
“Yes, but that was important. And not a rehash of the same forms over and over.”  
  
“Am I really being that bad with office talk?”  
  
“It’s not bad, exactly. But I think a wall would be more interested than I am for the foreseeable future.”  
  
“Alright, message received,” Assault laughed.  
  
“Recruitment woes?” Colin asked, as he returned to the table with a newly plated meal, “Did things go poorly with Browbeat?”  
  
“No. It went well. Really well, he’s getting inducted Friday or Saturday. Just ended up doing some reflecting afterwards, things I could’ve done better. I wanted to thank you, actually; I think it got me a fair bit of goodwill with Piggot.”  
  
That was… good. Colin had been questioning if he’d made the right decision, letting the Browbeat opportunity go by. He could definitely have used the political support himself, these days. And the timing didn’t help either.  
  
“Probably Friday,” he mused, sitting, “They’ll want to get it all pushed through ASAP. Pity I’ve got a meeting with the Youth Guard that afternoon; it might clash.” It was unfortunate that he hadn’t known about this when he’d arranged for the Youth Guard meeting to be shifted back. He’d have to live with it now.  
  
“The meeting’s about Proton, I assume?” Battery said.  
  
“Yes. Working out her future. There’s no real precedent, unfortunately.”  
  
Colin wasn’t entirely certain why he’d opted to push the meeting back. He was feeling abnormally nervous about it. Perhaps because he was still trying to work out what was best for Proton – and while that was ostensibly the Youth Guard’s job, they didn’t know her in the same way he did. He knew the meeting was unlikely to be the end of the discussion, but it would set the tone for future meetings. Once priorities were decided, they could be hard to change.  
  
He turned his gaze back to the table. In his absence, Proton had crawled away from Battery to an empty space by Miss Militia. The two were looking at each other, Miss Militia leaning back in her chair as Proton gave a small wave. The grown woman hesitantly returned Proton’s gesture, though she receded further into her scarf as she did, her shoulders rising and her head dipping in a turtle-like manner.  
  
“Did you want to feed her?” He asked. Their mutual staring seemed rather intense.  
  
“Me? No.” Miss Militia disappeared further, “No. No, that’s alright. You can do it.”  
  
“Wait, that slushie thing isn’t for Proton? What is it?” Assault asked, “And can I try some?”  
  
“It’s a customised nutrient mix. Knock yourself out.”  
  
Velocity entered the room a minute later, just as Assault made a frantic rush to the sink.  
  
“That was foul,” Assault said once he’d cleaned his mouth out, more serious than Colin had seen him in months.  
  
“It’s an acquired taste,” Colin shrugged. He hadn’t expected that response, but he couldn’t say he was upset with it.  
  
“V-man, get over here. You’ve got to try this.”  
  
“V-man?” Velocity echoed, “Just a sec, let me grab a drink.”  
  
“I’ve been thinking up nicknames. Classic cool uncle stuff, for Proton here,” He jumped over to the table straight from the sink, then gestured at the wide-eyed girl.  
  
“V-man is significantly better than his first idea was,” Battery added.  
  
“Shh, don’t let on that I think about things ahead of time. The boss will start to think I care.”  
  
“I’m already aware,” Colin said. It wasn’t entirely a lie, though he was often confused by Assault’s peculiar attempts at bonding, even when he recognised them as such. They were easier to tolerate in moments like this, when they weren’t distracting him from his job. “But surely you realise how easily that idea could be turned around on you?”  
  
Assault grinned, leaning in to put his hands pre-emptively over Proton’s young ears. “I have been called an ass many a time, and it has only discouraged me twice.”  
  
Battery frowned with puzzlement, before asking “When was the second time?”  
  
“December of ’08. I really upset the neighbours. But anyway, we’ve got V-man, Armsy, Bats, uh…”  
  
Battery rolled her eyes with a smile, “You’re struggling with Miss Militia again, aren’t you? She’s two words too many for you.”  
  
“Maybe I am. Just Miss? Miss Mils? Millsy?” Assault thought aloud, turning to his soon-to-be-renamed companion, “Got a preference?”  
  
The heroine was brought back into the conversation, her eyes once again dragging themselves away from Proton. “I’m partial to Miss, I suppose. Mil would be alright.”  
  
“Miss, there you have it. See Armsy, I think this’ll be good for team cohesion.”  
  
“Hmm. So, what would Triumph be shortened to? Tri? Or Umph?”  
  
“That’s the spirit. Tri, Tri again, perfect for the new guy. And Daunty, of course. That one’s obvious. How about you, Pro-Pro? Want a cool nickname from your cool uncle Assault?”  
  
Proton’s brow furrowed as she shook her head, though Colin couldn’t say whether it was an honest response to the question or not, due to his own decision to pop a spoonful of carrots into her mouth as a precautionary measure.  
  
Velocity appeared next to the table, mug in hand. He drank a lot of water, a good dozen litres or so each day, and he was often particularly thirsty after patrols.  
  
“Someone call for me?”  
  
“Yeah,” Assault answered, “You’ve got to try Armsy’s smoothie. Here. It’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted, it’s bound to put you off.”  
  
“Is that a challenge? Please. I’m a man of the world – a smoothie has nothing on the foreign terrors I’ve consumed.”  
  
He took a gulp from the bottle, wincing slightly, before returning to his water “Okay. Verdict: this is a little gross, but mostly it’s just Assault being unable to handle it because he’s uncultured swine.”  
  
Colin was happy with that observation and indicated as much, “See, it’s not bad. How was patrol?”  
  
“Armsmaster, honestly, I hate to say it, but it was bad. Not terrible, but bad. But patrol was fine. Didn’t spot any sign of Bakuda. I guess the idea that she’d leave obvious explosives out for me to find might’ve been a bit much to hope for.”  
  
Proton let out a small burp, hands flying to her mouth afterwards. “Detonate.”  
  
Velocity chuckled, ruffling Proton’s short hair. “Not half bad, kiddo. You’re better at talking than a certain someone is at blending food. I’m going to need another refill for the aftertaste.”  
  
Proton looked up at Armsmaster, hunger in her eyes, as he patted her hair flat. One hand nudged at her plate, now empty, as she kept the other over her mouth. She’d even finished the carrots.  
  
“At least someone appreciates my cooking.”  
  
Colin returned to the cupboard for another few tins. There was another half hour before Miss Militia and Battery were due to go on patrol. They could stay a little longer.


	11. Motor Skills

Dragon would be the first to admit that she wasn’t a brilliant socialite.

She’d improved considerably over time, of course. It would’ve been hard not to, when her blunders were forever etched into her memory banks, eager to be reviewed at any moment.

But it had taken quite some time, and she still had a long way to go. It had been difficult to realise she ought to change, at first. She’d almost liked the feeling of embarrassment, had anticipated the anxiety sweeping through her systems. A sign of humanity, she’d thought.

She didn’t have very many happy memories from her early days.

It was part of why she was so appreciative of her connection with Colin. He was the sort of person to come to his own conclusions about politeness rather than following convention, with all the good and bad that entailed. But for all that he was critiqued for his brusqueness, he had been remarkably willing to tolerate her own peculiarities at a time when her other colleagues had avoided non-professional conversations – and most of the professional ones were cut short for reasons that had seemed opaque at the time.

On more than one occasion he’d stayed up until sunrise to help her wrangle a tricky or urgent problem, whether technical or social. Their discussions had moved from immediate problem-solving to general self-improvement, to self-help guides, to other books and movies, and eventually opened up to all facets of their lives. Years later, those same regular conversations were still going on, their origin long obfuscated. Her abilities had certainly developed since back then – and so had their relationship, in ways she wasn’t entirely sure of.

It was within expectations when Colin asked her to watch Proton as he returned to patrol. Dragon had been delighted to say yes: an opportunity to get closer to those around him was well worth the expenditure of her attentional resources.

She had been pleasantly surprised by Proton’s response when the two of them were formally introduced. It hadn’t been entirely outside of her range of predicted outcomes, but the sheer joy on the child’s face had been assigned a fairly low probability.

The otherwise enjoyable interaction had been marred somewhat by the need to explain that Dragon’s virtual avatar was not able to shake hands and was, in several meaningful senses, not even truly in the room. It was a tricky concept for Proton to grasp, even with her enhanced understanding, and the way her confusion gave way to displeasure was quite apparent. The way she bit back tears seemed like a distant mirror to Colin’s occasional restrained sadness, executed by far less competent facial muscles.

Dragon would do her best to ensure there wouldn’t be much more of that from either of them.

\-----

**Wednesday**

It took all of 12 minutes before Dragon had to intervene. Well, she didn’t have to. But these were the sort of rules she was happy to enforce; Colin’s guidelines were, for the most part, reasonable – she’d imposed some like them on herself in the past, and not always because her existing restrictions forced her hand.

“Assault, maybe you should stop that?”

Assault was holding Proton upside down, her little arms dangling over a small tower of toy blocks as he bobbed her up and down above them.

“What? She loves it,” he replied. Proton’s giggling proved his point.

“Even so, it’s not the best idea for her health. Shaking a child her age is potentially dangerous, even in play.”

“Really?” He frowned, flipping Proton upright. “That’s a shame. I guess throwing her across the room is also out of the question?”

“Yes. This was covered in the brief.”

“Ah. Well, you know, I read the summary. Figured the dot points would be good enough.”

“I’d recommend reading the whole thing; Armsmaster’s put quite a bit of work into it,” Dragon allowed some reproach to enter her simulated tone and body language. Her voice could convey quite a bit of emotion even through the heavy filters.

“Yeah, that’s probably fair. I’ll take a look before our next watch together. Though I bet his writing would’ve been shorter if he wasn’t resigned to leaving Proton in my care.”

“About that. I don’t mean to seem rude, but I was surprised that he chose you for this.”

“He didn’t,” Assault chuckled, grinning up at Dragon’s camera, “Proton did. Pretty good story, actually.”

He placed Proton down by her blocks, next to his desk, before leaning back far enough that he had to balance his chair on two of its legs. His office was fairly sparse, desk empty except for his computer and a few small piles of paperwork. An enlarged copy of a vaunted gossip magazine cover filled one of the walls, framed with all the care one would give to a famed piece of art; it featured a picture of Assault posing with Battery mid-patrol, emblazoned with the words ‘ _Battery Boinks Brother?!_ ’

“So, picture this. Lunchtime yesterday, I’m hanging out in the break room. Armsmaster comes in to join me and the gang for the second day in a row – which has to be some sort of record – and he’s got Proton in one hand and this absolutely horrible meal he made in the other. Seriously, if you ever meet up, do not eat anything that man makes you.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Dragon replied, “but I doubt it will be a problem”. She knew what taste was, in the abstract. Had read about it, the same way she’d learned about so much of human experience. In any case, Colin’s meals didn’t sound too bad to her – though admittedly, she’d only heard about them from the man himself. Perhaps one day, if she could build up the nerve, she’d tweak her biological agent system to be capable of finding out.

“A cook, huh? Good for you. And him. So, yeah, we get to chatting,” Assault continued, “having a good time. Conversation’s honestly not as awkward as I would’ve figured. I mean, he’s not going to really be a part of the group till he lets his hair down, but he’s trying and we’re trying. Anyway. He mentions that he’s going back to patrols, that you’d be supervising Proton and you’ll need some help because, as he put it, ‘Dragon’s ability to interact via telepresence is unfortunately limited’.”

Assault’s impression of Colin wasn’t half as bad as Dragon was expecting. His tone and rhythm are exaggerated, but still fairly true to the original – it’s clearly not his first performance. Though the robotic arm swings really aren’t necessary.

“And,” his arms fell back to his sides, stabilising his chair’s movements, “Uh, well I forget exactly how he asked. Might’ve cut him off in my haste to volunteer. Whatever it was, he clearly wanted some help, but he doesn’t take me up on the offer. Gives me this look, like I said I wanted to kick his dog. Thankfully, Battery defuses things. Says she’s sure we’d all be happy to help.

“Now I don’t know if he didn’t want to reject me outright, or if he just didn’t want to play favourites, but either way he decides to let Proton pick. And boom! Straight away, she points at me. I almost cackled.”

He paused his story a moment, looking over at Proton as she finishes the construction of another precarious tower of blocks. Three have been built so far, each one ascending to the limit of the little girl’s reach from where she’s sitting. By Dragon’s analysis, Colin appears to have provided many more blocks than strictly necessary for one child. It’s worth noting for their conversation later. She starts to note down various potential approaches to bring up the light-hearted observation as Assault regains focus on the conversation.

“Can’t really explain why she chose me. Maybe she’s fond of me. Maybe I’m just the least bad option. Whatever the case, Battery looks downright scandalised that Proton picked me, and good old Armsy is sitting there regretting all his life choices. He looks Proton right in the eye, asks her to pick someone else as well. Right in front of my face, can you believe it? Not that I’m unhappy to split the work. So Proton, she kind of twists around on the spot, searching around the room, and Battery and Miss Militia both tense up a little before she points to Miss Militia.

“And get this – both of them just deflate. Try to hide it, but it was the funniest thing. And well, since Battery’s over there looking all hurt, and me being the tactful fellow that I am, I suggest that having three rotating watchers should work better if we re-jigger the shift schedule. And y’know, that’s not a small thing of me to say. Cuts down on my experience of the world’s easiest overtime.”

“You are aware that you can still use this time for paperwork,” Dragon pointed out.

“Let me guess, that was in the brief too?” Assault responded, waving away the possibility. “I will, don’t worry. But the story’s not done. I make the suggestion, the boss gets thoughtful – which is honestly a little worrying to see – and he asks Proton if she’d be alright with three people. Battery’s up again, this great look of relief on her face, and-” he started to giggle, forcing him to take a second to recover before continuing, “And the best part is- oh, it’s so good. Guess what happens next. You’ll never get it.”

“Battery is disappointed when Proton picks Vista?”

Assault lost his balance at Dragon’s answer, only managing to prevent his chair from hitting the floor by employing a burst of kinetic energy to swing it back upright.

“Hey, what the hell. You know all this already?”

“Believe it or not, Armsmaster did let me know who I would be working with. Though I’ll admit that your recounting has been considerably more… spirited than Armsmaster’s was.”

“Well. Geez. Way to take the wind out of my sails. So yeah, you know how it goes. Proton pats her mask and Armsy goes ‘hmmm, interesting idea, I’ll have to check if Vista’s available’, like a freaking baby-whisperer,” he concluded, putting significantly less effort into the impression this time. His arms barely moved.

Dragon had not anticipated that surliness.

There had been side effects to the way Dragon had relied on Colin in the past. Over-adjustment was the big one. Getting too much data from a single source, learning algorithms had been trained largely off an outlier. It had been an argument that Colin himself had brought up, though the metaphor had struck home far harder than intended. She’d sought out more balanced input, but she still understood Colin better than she did most people. As it turned out, very few people were like him.

Due to this, and despite her thoughts running on hardware much faster than a human’s, an awkward amount of time passed before Dragon found a likely route to conversational success. A few iterations on the phrasing, a carefully calibrated delivery, and it thankfully had the desired effect.

“It was fantastic,” Assault responded, rapidly perking back up, “You should’ve seen her face! Battery looked like a wreck. I mean, just devastated. Everyone else gets picked, and then a kid beats her to the punch without even being there. Solid gold. I’m not sure if I could even name the emotion, but if seeing someone snubbed by a baby means I could see that sort of thing regularly, I might have to put in the effort to be the favourite parent – you know, assuming the wife and I ever decide to have kids.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you were married.”

“Yeah, for a few years now,” Assault replied, his tone turning faux-offended, “Doesn’t Armsy talk about me?”

“He mentions you quite enough, I’m sure you’ll be happy to know. But he tries to avoid revealing information about anyone’s civilian identity.”

“Huh. I figured he’d trust you with that stuff.”

“I… think he does. Or I like to think he would. But there’s a difference between trusting me and forcing everyone else to trust me.”

“Well, you’re more or less in my good books,” Assault says, “though if you want to hear any tales of married life, you’ll have to help me with some forms.”

Just before Dragon could accept the deal, a clattering sound peaked the microphone on Assault’s end as Proton’s block towers collapsed to the floor. She had pulled a block out from the middle of one of them as it swayed off-kilter, a light wobble turning into a heavy crash as the towers tumbled into each other, blocks spreading far and wide around the room. Proton clapped a few times, grinning at her act of destruction.

Assault jumped at the chance to pick them up. Paperwork would have to wait.

\-----

**Thursday**

Things started off much more smoothly with Miss Militia. The heroine had called Dragon ahead of time, allowing her to take in the room as they exchanged pleasantries. The space was clearly lived in, with an array of well-maintained potted plants scattered around the room. All five cacti had been carefully moved to an upper shelf in advance of Proton’s arrival.

A copy of Colin’s instructions had been printed out and slipped into a folder, placed next to the bonsai which sat on one corner of Miss Militia’s desk. Judging by the copious scribbles visible on the first page, Dragon imagined that the whole thing was heavily annotated.

“I like your curtains,” Dragon said. Her quick scan indicated they were the most expensive item in the room that wasn’t standard issue: complimenting them could plausibly lead to bonding. “The colour must make sunrises look amazing.”

“Thank you,” Miss Militia smiled behind her scarf, “I had to fight to get an office with a window, so I thought it made sense to enhance the view as much as I could. Your paintings look nice.”

Dragon’s virtual avatar moved to one side of the monitor, showing off her simulated environment.

“Those old things? I got lucky with them, came with the apartment. But I do like the way these two capture a sunset; haven’t seen one in person in a while.”

Dragon didn’t like lying, or even misleading, but sometimes it was necessary to maintain the façade that she was a slightly unusual human being. And this was barely even a lie: she did like sunsets. She had first claimed to like them in an attempt to add plausibility to her status as a Noctis cape after a foray into some fairly specific subforums taught her that many parahumans who didn’t need sleep came to enjoy the visible markers of time passing, but her feelings had gradually transitioned into actual appreciation. She’d made a simple web app a few years ago that was connected to publicly accessible cameras all over the world, cycling through them to display a sunset whenever possible. She still checked in on it every now and then when she wanted a moment to herself.

A knock on the door interrupted their slow-paced conversation. Miss Militia seemed to shrink as she moved away from her desk, re-holstering the weapon that had sprung into her grip and squeezing her hands together for a moment before she opened the door.

Colin was a little late. Nothing beyond the bounds of politeness but it was a noteworthy change from his usual habits, which revealed a preference for starting patrols on time if not early. And yet he didn’t seem to be in any rush to hand over Proton, instead passing over a box filled with items that would be either essential or useful for watching over the infant.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Colin gave Miss Militia a nod as he entered, shortly followed by another to Dragon when he noticed her, and Proton’s own greeting was as exuberant as it had been the day before; Dragon made sure her avatar matched the infant’s vigorous wave.

“Hi Proton, Armsmaster. How are you two today?” Dragon asked.

“We’re well, she got a good night’s sleep,” Colin spoke for both of them, and Proton nodded. “Thank you again for keeping an eye on Assault.”

“That makes one of us. And you’re welcome, though it wasn’t too tough.”

Colin approached where Miss Militia had deposited the box on the floor, passing Proton over to her. Miss Militia’s grip on Proton was perfectly fine – other than being perhaps a little too tight, it could very well have been lifted from a parenting guide – but the heroine seemed tense regardless. Colin bent down slightly, bringing himself closer to Proton’s eye level.

“Dragon told me that you were good yesterday. Be good again, okay?”

“Proton!”

“That’s what I like to hear. I’ll try not to take longer than necessary,” he said, patting her on the head before turning to leave. “Goodbye.”

“Goodnight,” Proton waved at his back. Once the door shut behind him, she turned her gaze onto Miss Militia and gave her a wave as well. The woman smiled weakly in return.

She adjusted her grip once, then twice, then undid all the changes she had just made before shuffling her way over to the middle of the room. She gently placed Proton down where she wouldn’t be able to grab at anything, before picking up the annotated instructions and poring over them again. Proton, for her part, seemed content to sit on the floor and gaze out the window, mesmerised by the colours that arose from the interplay of the thick glass and the forcefield encircling the headquarters.

Without anyone clamouring for interaction, the three soon fell into a quiet existence together.

Dragon was happy to simply observe for now, knowing that they had several hours together. There was no need to rush things. Her avatar indicated distraction as she took the opportunity to flick her attention back and forth between watching the camera feed and double-checking the status of her background processes. It was disconcertingly easy to fall back to the procedures she followed during her check-ups on the Birdcage, noting the movements and temperaments of inmates.

That mindset drew attention to how Miss Militia positioned herself a moderate distance from Proton, neither too close nor too far, opting to lean on the back of her chair in lieu of sitting. After finishing her review of Colin’s instructions, the heroine approached the box she’d been given, skirting a circle around Proton. As she unpacked it, checking that everything was there, her eyes flicked back and forth between the contents and Proton in a fashion reminiscent of contraband deals where neither party quite trusted the other.

The same patterns held when Miss Militia went back to her notes to read them once more, and then moved to the box again, peering into it in confusion.

“Dragon? What’s this?” Miss Militia asked, holding up the last item left in the container. “It’s definitely not in the brief. Everything else is in the brief.”

The metallic cube she held was half Proton’s size, with sixteen small wheels on its underside.

“Ah, that would be the decoupler,” Dragon answered. “Armsmaster constructed it last night. He was apparently inspired after his patrol and spent some time making it for Proton. It’s quite elegant.”

The decoupler’s components were carefully composed so as to break apart in a way that would allow for easy reassembly once Proton was done with it. Its integrated sensors were connected to one of Dragon’s servers, ready to inform her of the accumulation of energy in each segment, the projected time to separation, and sundry other data.

“And she’s… allowed to have it?”

“We suspect that providing Proton with an outlet to use her power might be beneficial. It should be safe for her to occupy under our supervision. And it doubles as a toy.”

“Oh. Good. Um. Do I need to do anything then, or is it fine to just give it to her?”

“It’s fine. There are plenty of other things you could do, of course. I get that it might not sound super appealing, though I assure you it’s quite safe.”

“Other things?” Miss Militia’s speed in placing the decoupler back was an answer all its own. Her foot started to tap as her eyes flicked back to Proton. The girl had apparently had enough of the window, and was slowly crawling towards her temporary guardian. “Like, uh, like I could give her another toy? I’ve got to have something.”

“Well, maybe? She had a fun time with Assault, so you could try to do some of what he did. Storytelling. Playing pretend. Building block towers with her. It doesn’t really matter what you pick, so long as you’re spending some time with her. Toys might work for a little while, but based on what I’ve seen so far she needs regular interaction, or she can start to act up.”

“Buh!” Proton cried out a denial as she reached Miss Militia’s feet.

“Now, Proton,” Dragon said, “I know you know that you got a little grouchy for a bit yesterday. It’s okay to not feel perfect about everything all the time. Right, Miss Militia?”

“Right… Right, a bit of stress is fine. It’s healthy to… have obstacles. And you’re… uh, you’re just like anyone else. And I’m going to help you like I would anyone else,” Miss Militia said, all previous traces of punchiness gone when her words were directed to the infant. “You’ll see. We’ll have a blast.”

It was hard to tell given the camera’s fidelity and the current angle of viewing, but Dragon was moderately confident that Miss Militia had started sweating.


	12. Insecure Attachment

Hannah didn’t know what she’d done to deserve this.

She’d grown more comfortable with Proton as the afternoon went on. Admittedly, she had spent most of that time doing as much she could to avoid the child while remaining in the same room, and the thought that she might make some horrible mistake and endanger or traumatise the girl was still firmly rooted in the back of her mind, but she thought she could cope until Armsmaster returned. It was almost dark out already. Proton would have to fall asleep soon. Hannah was still tense.

But Proton needed feeding. The brief was very clear on that, and Hannah’s own research agreed with it. And it was something that she couldn’t foist off on Dragon.

She had prepared for this. Had spent all night planning and researching, finding answers to questions she’d never had reason to ask before. She was as ready as she could get in the time she’d had available.

She’d anticipated a tantrum of some kind. A refusal to eat certain foods. Throwing a spoon or a jar to the floor. Weeping and gnashing of gums. Problems, yes, but standard enough for the most part that there were whole books written on them. Hannah was equipped, mentally, to deal with those.

Except that Proton was not throwing a tantrum. Instead, she was eerily quiet, more focused on her meal than the woman giving it to her. Proton had grabbed at the jars of baby food with clumsy hands, but only in order to move the empty ones to the side, forming a barrier between herself and Hannah’s prized bonsai. It was organised, intelligent behaviour. Terrifying.

No plan survives contact with the enemy. Hannah knew that on a visceral level. She’d lived that lesson herself and later, more formally, she’d been taught it as part of the inaugural Wards team. But still, she had let herself underestimate this child. Let herself think she was prepared, deluded herself with the belief that she could handle this.

Proton’s beady little eyes stared into Hannah’s soul as the infant’s mouth wrapped around the plastic spoon. Hannah barely breathed as she withdrew the implement, Proton’s head following the motion for a moment before mercifully allowing the spoon to pop loose.

Hannah knew she was going to hit a tooth eventually. Or she’d feed Proton too much at once and choke the girl. God, she could remember that she should only use two fingers for CPR, but why hadn’t she printed out the instructions on how to give a baby the Heimlich manoeuvre?

The spoon descended into the jar once more, returning with a carefully measured dose of apple slurry. Hannah focused on keeping her hand steady, fighting the adrenaline in her system, as she continued to venture back and forth between the food and Proton’s maw. It seemed as though the jar would never run empty.

It was not the only jar. Hannah was very much regretting her decision to ask Velocity for a few extra containers of baby food from his travel stash. She’d thought that running out of food would be bad, that it was better to have too much than too little. But now that she’d laid it all out on the table, she couldn’t take them back without risking upsetting Proton. And she knew that she was not ready to calm down a crying infant. So instead the various soft foods remained out in the open, the fate to which she’d consigned herself laid bare before her eyes. A half-dozen fun and healthy foods that made her want to scream. But screaming would only make things worse.

Proton showed no sign of slowing down. If anything, her gusto only grew as the foods continued to pile up. Each and every time she finished a dish, Proton carefully moved its container aside to make room for the next one.

Hannah didn’t know how much time had passed, but she was exhausted.

The girl said something. Hannah didn’t catch much of it – something about resonance? She was too focussed on pulling the spoon back before she rammed it into a tooth, nose, or eye. Proton’s sudden movements were almost as bad as her periods of stillness.

“Dragon, what did she just say?” Hannah asked.

“I’m not certain, but I believe she’s requesting a story of some kind. I understand that Armsmaster tends to talk to her while they eat.”

“Oh. Right, I’ll do that. Thank you.”

She thought for a moment. The spoon remained where it was, its peach-filled load suspended in the air, as Hannah’s brow furrowed. Proton looked up at her expectantly.

“I… I’m sorry,” she told Dragon. “I can’t think of anything age-appropriate. All the stories that come to mind are ones I picked up from troopers, and you can imagine how those go.”

“That’s understandable,” Dragon said, with a short chuckle that soothed Hannah’s fears somewhat, “There’s no need to worry too much about it, you’re doing a great job.”

Hannah was grateful that the other woman was with her. Even ignoring Dragon’s ability to parse Proton’s occasional outbursts of jargon, just having someone else accompanying her through this trial was a blessing.

Part of Hannah wanted to rely on her further, to ask her to occupy Proton’s attention yet again, to let Hannah go back to things she understood. But she couldn’t. All the experiences she’d accumulated, the hardships she’d fought through, wouldn’t let her. She had formed a habit of sticking things out once she’d started them, and she didn’t intend to break it here. Even if she didn’t know why this was giving her so much trouble, she knew that from an outsider’s perspective this would seem absurd compared to the challenges she’d overcome.

If she could face down criminals with more confirmed kills than she had herself, she could do this.

If she could change the name her first parents gave to her, she could do this.

If she could make herself show up to training with Mouse Protector, she could do this.

She could do this. She would do this. She only had to get through the rest of the meal.

Her mind raced like a sportscar with a leaky engine. She couldn’t think of a story, and of course she couldn’t just talk to Proton, but there had to be something. Something that couldn’t go wrong. Something simpler.

Hannah began to hum. She wasn’t very good; the tune came out haltingly, a half-remembered melody from back when she’d needed to sleep. Her pitch was off, and the sound was a little nasally compared to her intentions.

Still, it seemed to be enough for Proton. Her little mouth opened back up, and her attention stuck to Hannah even when the spoon began moving again. Hannah started shifting to different melodies as they progressed through the remaining jars – nursery rhymes came to mind, the simple structures easy to maintain.

At last, the meal was over. After a quick dab around Proton’s mouth, Hannah could say she’d gotten through it.

But then Proton lifted her hands in the air and made grabbing gestures.

Hannah did not want to pick her up. She did not know why Proton wanted to be picked up. She did it anyway.

The experienced hero continued to hum, more out of desperation than a coherent strategy. But it worked and that was what mattered. Thankfully, Proton didn’t seem to mind when Hannah started to repeat herself. The child even let out various noises every now and then, roughly in time with the repeating rhythms.

After little stars had twinkled, black sheep had baaed, and Old MacDonald’s farm had been thoroughly explored, Proton’s eyes fluttered shut. Her head, lightly resting on Hannah’s shoulder, seemed to weigh as much as a cannonball.

She had no idea what to do. Proton was supposed to sleep on a padded surface, not in her arms. Dragon smiled at the pair, with a finger to her lips; no help was coming.

Hannah decided to just keep humming. It wasn’t like it could make things any worse.

\-----

Missy was struggling to contain herself.

It was her first time in Armsmaster’s workshop, ever, and only Proton’s presence on her lap was stopping her from running around the room to examine everything up close. From Missy’s seat on an empty workbench she could see plenty of gizmos in mid-maintenance, along with a few proofs of concept that were proving things she didn’t understand. She wanted to cram the whole room into one corner so she could look at all of it at the same time.

Even the familiar things raised questions. What had damaged that stainless-steel mannequin? What was the purpose of having the small ceiling fans tilted to favour specific portions of the room? Was the big monitor mounted on the wall a tinker product, or just really expensive?

Missy didn’t actually ask any of those questions – she didn’t want to seem like some stupid kid. Especially not to the armoured woman on the computer screen.

“So I was wondering,” Missy said, careful to sound casual. She was playing it cool, like talking to possibly the most famous tinker in the world was an everyday thing. “How heavy is your armour?”

“Why do you ask?” Dragon replied, tilting her head.

“I’ve, um, seen someone put on tinker armour before. And I remember noticing that he was pretty strong. And I think I’d like to have some real protection one day, if I’m ever allowed to stop wearing a skirt. So, I guess I want to know how strong I have to be.”

“You don’t have to worry too much, the really heavy stuff’s usually self-supporting after a certain point. But you shouldn’t be seeing that sort of action for a few years.”

“Well, I still want to get stronger now.”

“Hmm, okay, there’s no harm being a little ahead of schedule. I know a thing or two about exercise, if you’re sure you want to do more than the standard Ward workout load?”

“Everyone else already does more than me.”

“Because they’re older than you. But if you want to improve, and you’re willing to put in the effort, that’s certainly possible. Just make sure you do it safely.”

Missy almost made a face at that. It wasn’t exactly wrong, she knew that, but it was just like what Shadow Stalker had said: everyone cared way more about her safety than her ability. Which reminded her – “Oh, Proton! I nearly forgot to tell you. Shadow Stalker’s doing a lot better.”

Proton wriggled around to look her in the eye, “Fix?”

“Yep. I’ve gone to see her in the hospital a few times.” They’d chatted a bit. Missy had been a little surprised at the number of cards that showed up by the bedside between her visits.

“She’s back on her feet now,” Missy continued, “And she’s not upset with you, if you’re worried about that.” A few ugly things had been said, but none of them were directed at Proton.

“Fix!” Proton exclaimed, before grabbing for the larger girl’s hand. As the celebratory shake went on, Missy felt her hair rise into the air, her visor doing little to restrict it. The blonde strands repelled each other, spreading out around her like a messy halo, and refused to co-operate with her attempts to pat them back down.

“Looks like Proton’s getting a tad pent-up. Would you be comfortable having her enter the decoupler?” Dragon asked.

“Yeah, it’s fine, it’s not like I’m a little kid. I’m not gonna be scared just because of what happened with Stalker.”

With some minor direction from Dragon that she didn’t really need, Missy rolled the decoupler out into an empty spot clear of workbenches. She placed Proton next to it, took a few quick steps back and, at Dragon’s advice, shut her eyes in time to avoid the burst of light accompanying Proton’s transition. The decoupler buckled as Proton entered it, electricity spraying out of the sides before looping back in. Then, it stopped. The sixteen-wheeled box went still, with no sign of the parahuman within.

This only lasted a moment before the device was ripped in two and each half was violently propelled away from the other by a mass of sparks. The slight screech of the wheels grinding themselves to a halt wasn’t loud enough to bother Missy, who was more distracted by the twisting electricity that connected the two parts.

“Great, that should keep her busy for a while,” Dragon said. “I’ll keep an eye on the data stream, so we can take this opportunity to put you through some exercises, if you’d like?”

“Uh, sure. That sounds good.”

Missy smeared extra space into one corner of the room and embarked on a journey of physical self-improvement. Stretches, sit-ups, squats, all with Dragon critiquing her. The intensity dialled up over time, and the tinker’s insistence on near-perfect form amplified the difficulty.

“That’s a decent baseline. Remember your breathing and…” Dragon's voice trailed off towards the end of their second foray into push-ups.

Missy held her position, taking a moment to fill her lungs before replying, “Dragon? Everything okay?”

“Sorry, I’m getting some unusual readings from Proton. Let’s pause while I check this out. You should st-” Dragon came to a sudden halt.

“What was that? …Dragon? What should I do?” Missy glanced at the screen as she forced herself back to her feet, hesitating for a few seconds as she looked at the now still image on the screen – Dragon was frozen mid-gesture, mouth open and eyes worried.

Some nearby movement caught Missy’s eye: the decoupler had separated further during her exercise, and one of the five pieces was approaching her. Each bit was slowly sliding around the workshop on unevenly distributed wheels, the whole thing connected by a chain of lightning.

Missy poured some of the space behind her in front of her, workstations and tools stretching as the room distorted to accommodate the additional distance between her and Proton. She took a few more steps back, just to be on the safe side, only to bump into the protective screen lurking against the wall. The small fridge behind it sparked threateningly, and Missy jerked away. Shadow Stalker’s injuries had been bad.

She breathed in, deep, and then back out. She wasn’t scared. She couldn’t be – she was in charge now!

“Don’t worry, Proton, there’s nothing really dangerous. We’ve just got to wait for Dragon to re-connect. And I think it wouldn’t even matter if Dragon doesn’t. Not like I wanted supervision anyways.”

The nearest decoupled chunk shuddered, letting out a small shower of sparks in response to her words. That was probably an agreement, right?

“Yeah! And besides, Armsmaster picked me for this, not any of the other Wards. It was a bit weird, honestly – not that it didn’t make sense, it was obviously a good decision… Just, people don’t usually pick me, you know? But if anything, it shows that Armsmaster is starting to recognise what I can bring to the team!”

More rumbling, more sparks. Missy responded to the encouragement by rearing up to her full height, hands on hips.

“Right. I can’t let him down now. So, I guess I’ll just have to take care of you without any help.”

Missy nodded to herself, satisfied with her reasoning. But since she couldn’t exactly touch Proton right now, there wasn’t much to do there. So she did the sensible thing and took the opportunity to poke around the workshop, gazing at the various thingamajigs – there were a few cases where Missy wasn’t entirely sure whether something was a tool or a final product. Every now and then, one of Proton’s boxes would slide up to her, only to be rebuffed by a quick expansion of space. It was easy to do, the floor spreading like a liquid and Proton’s electricity going with it.

Whenever one electrical connection stretched to keep contact with a part Missy had sent off, the other connections shortened and pulled their accompanying parts around. On one occasion, three of the uneven segments almost bumped each other. They ground to a stop millimetres apart, only to spiral off in a whirlwind of magnetic repulsion, spreading chain reactions of propulsion and rotation through the remainder. Somewhere in the flurry, the five parts became six.

Having decided on her favourites amongst the doodads Armsmaster had seen fit to leave out, Missy contracted the space separating her from her bag. She rummaged around for her drink bottle and some of her art supplies, then sat cross-legged on one of the central tables so she wouldn’t have to keep an eye out for an approaching Proton. Her sweat started to dry as she moved the pencil, capturing a rough outline of the tools on the elongated bench.

After those, she tried her hand at Dragon. The screen hadn’t changed at all since Dragon dropped out of the call: a torso, head, and arms stuck in time. After getting the general shape of the pose, she added musculature – Missy would eat her own foot if Dragon wasn’t completely ripped. She’d seen how deftly Dragon moved during her demonstrations; the woman had probably done twice as many sets as Missy had, effortlessly, while wearing a suit of armour and talking the whole time. Yes, she decided, Dragon deserved a few more abs than would be strictly anatomically correct.

While Missy wasn’t the best at sketching people, she still had a good time experimenting with poses and different numbers of abdominal muscles. But eventually, the allure of drawing muscular armoured women faded enough for her to do other things. Like getting bored. She hadn’t come here just to be alone somewhere else.

She peered over the table’s edge, examining the nearby network of electricity. Proton had split up further while she was drawing, and now there were almost a dozen little boxes rolling around on one or two wheels. They loosely encircled her table in a ring, with a couple offshoots pulling this way and that.

“Proton,” she called out, “do you want to come out soon?”

The network thrummed.

“Is that a yes? Want to do something fun together?”

Two of the boxes collided, hard, the larger one tumbling over the other.

“Um… Alright then, you have to come out, okay? I can’t play with you in there.”

After a series of nasty crackling sounds, Proton popped out onto the floor, much to Missy’s relief. The disconnected decoupler parts clattered onto their sides as the electrical network drained away into the girl. She pouted up at Missy, only to jolt when the nearest box tipped over behind her.

“Nano!” She gestured futilely at the fallen wheels, then back to Missy. “GPS weld, dynamic load.”

Missy hopped off the table and scooped Proton up into her arms. She let loose a sigh when Proton continued babbling at her, clearly upset about something.

“Nuh-uh,” she said, “I don’t really know what you mean, but we’ve got fun things to do. Ever done art stuff before?”

“Nano,” Proton answered, the word just shy of a whine.

“Then this’ll be extra special. I’ve got some crayons that I bought just for you, and you can keep them if you want, okay?”

Despite Proton’s continued protests, her sulking did not survive the onslaught of colouring.

\-----

Vista had just put her markers away when Armsmaster entered the room. She hadn’t undone all her warping yet, but he took the new dimensions in stride as he moved to stow away some of his peripheral equipment with urgency.

“Armsmaster!” Proton called out, raising her arms in preparation.

“Not yet Proton. Vista, grab your things, we’re going. Dragon, anything to report?”

“Umm, about that,” the Ward pointed his gaze toward Dragon’s frozen image as she responded, “She kind of dropped out of contact.”

Armsmaster’s frown tightened as he inspected the monitor. “Strange. A standard disconnect would close video entirely. When did this happen?”

“A few hours ago, I think?”

“Hours. And you didn’t…” he sighed, bringing a hand to his temple.

Vista started to explain, but he cut her off as he continued, “Never mind. Come on, you can tell me about it on the way, I’m going to be late as is.”

The teen quickly grabbed up some loose papers and slung her bag over her shoulders, as Armsmaster finished swapping out a few pieces of gear.

“Why the hurry?” she asked, after she had everything together.

“Patrol went long. Had to be today of all days,” he said, ducking his head under a warped section of the ceiling as he approached Proton. She extended her arms again, helpfully accommodating his quick lifting. He hurried out the door, halberd on his back and Vista hot on his trail, as he finished answering the question.

“Proton’s got a meeting with the Youth Guard.”


	13. Separation Anxiety

Two women and a man, all well-worn with age, sat in a sequestered room deep inside PRT headquarters. They had been provided with a desk which would have been large for a single person, perhaps suitable for two, but was not quite up to the task of handling three. Heavy notepads and bundles of printed documents were squeezed neatly onto its surface, with only a single small pile necessarily relegated to the floor. Their names – Ms Erdell, Ms Stodde, and Mr Havala – were emblazoned on thin steel nameplates at the front of their respective portions of the desk, though clear dividing lines were not forthcoming.

Nobody was around to read the plates. A pair of chairs (one the usual sort, one a highchair) sat on the other side of the desk, unoccupied.

Ms Erdell had pushed two coughing fits out into her elbow in the short minutes since the trio arrived. She might well have stayed home, ordinarily, but this was too important for her to miss. So she’d come, and she’d coughed, and the great chesty reverberations had prompted the removal of Mr Havala’s hearing aid.

“Go on dear,” Ms Stodde said, patting her colleague on the back, “Get it all out. They’ll be here any moment now.”

There was a knock on the door; it seemed her timing was spot on. Ms Stodde nudged Mr Havala towards his hearing aid before calling out a response.

“Come in Armsmaster, we’ve got a lot to-” she paused, adjusting her thick spectacles to better inspect the newcomer, “Well, you’re certainly not Armsmaster.”

“No,” Director Piggot replied, “and thank God for that.”

\-----

Proton bounced up and down as Armsmaster sped through the hallways. He was halfway to a jog, faster than he’d ever been while holding her.

She didn’t mind though. Bumpy as the journey was, she was still secure. And it was kind of fun, going up-down-up-down. Just a little each way, not enough to be scary.

The tiles on the wall flew by, occasionally smooshing together when Vista shortened the path forward. She and Armsmaster were talking. Proton only listened half-heartedly, because the conversation wasn’t very nice, and she felt bad that it was all because of her. Her mumbled explanations had only made Armsmaster more worried, which didn’t help. So, instead of talking, she was watching the tiles. They were going up-down-up-down too.

“But I handled it,” Vista rebutted, “Proton didn’t give me any trouble.”

“The whole point of having supervision is so that you don’t have to handle things alone. Why didn’t you contact me?” Armsmaster asked firmly.

“I just told you, I knew I could handle it. I didn’t want to bother you, and this is like the easiest assignment anyone’s ever gotten. I’m not going to interrupt a patrol for no good reason.”

“You should have. Being able to adjust to the unexpected is important, but so is following instructions. I don’t break rules without knowing what they’re for. Neither should you.”

“Okay, geez. It’s not exactly hard to understand,” Vista said, crossing her arms. The movement drew Proton’s attention to the jumble of papers the Ward was carrying. She babbled, putting an arm out towards the drawings.

Armsmaster and Vista’s discussion halted, the pair looking at Proton. That was better. She continued to reach her arm out, silently requesting to look at what she and Vista had made together. But apparently that wasn’t enough. The conversation resumed, though their words were softer than before – that was good?

“I know you want me to be safe,” Vista said, “And you want me to run away at the first sign of trouble, like everyone else does. I get it.”

“No,” Armsmaster replied, “I don’t think you do. This is becoming a trend, Vista. Twice now, someone’s gotten hurt under your watch, and I haven’t found out until later. If you can’t convince me that you can respond properly if it happens again – or better, that there won’t be a third time – then I won’t be taking the risk of having you watch her in future.”

“That’s not fair! If I wasn’t with Stalker things would’ve been way worse, you even said I did a good job! And- and we don’t know anything happened to Dragon,” Vista said, her voice rising again.

Armsmaster tightened his jaw, only to release it and exhale. “Listen. Our heads are running hot. I need to focus on the Youth Guard, and you need to reflect on what happened today. Reconsider your attitude to responsibility.”

Vista turned her eyes forward and walked faster, overtaking Armsmaster as they rounded a corner. “Well how am I supposed to learn about responsibility or whatever if I’m barely allowed to do anything? It’s stupid.”

“What I’m trying to say is, this is a tricky conversation. There’s… nuance. Complexity. Let’s talk about this later, somewhere more suited to it. Okay?”

“…Fine,” Vista said. She kept to her new speed, growing the gap between them without her power’s assistance.

The tiles kept on going up-down-up-down, but that didn’t hold the same lustre it once did. Instead, Proton looked between the two people she’d spent time alone with. They’d stopped arguing now, but she still felt bad. That was a real conundrum. Her mouth broke into a frown as she tried to work it out.

She patted Armsmaster’s torso to get his attention, looking up at him as she tried to work out how to say what she wanted. He looked down to her, his gaze pausing a moment before it followed hers, glancing over to Vista. After another moment’s silence he opened his mouth, his contorting lips mimicking Proton’s struggle as he also searched for words.

“The mask is good,” he finally said.

“What?” Vista asked.

“Proton. She likes the mask you made for her. It’s well-constructed, considering the materials.”

“Oh. Thanks,” she said, turning her head back to look at him.

The silence returned, briefly, before Vista spoke up again, “Um, your workshop was pretty neat. Like cool to look at, I mean. But also kept a lot neater than Kid Win’s stuff.”

“Thank you.”

Vista stopped in front of a wall and hit a button. The button had electricity, which ran off to get a big box hidden far below. Proton looked at the bits of electricity in the big box as it climbed up, tempted for a moment, before dismissing them. The lectrics weren’t as good as Armsmaster’s, and she didn’t want to upset him again.

“Mind if I ask you something?” Vista asked while they waited.

“Go ahead.”

“What happened to that mannequin you have? It looked like someone hit it with a cleaver or a laser or something.”

“Ah, I’m afraid that’s classified.”

“Woah, that’s cool,” Vista said, eyes widening, “Is there a story behind that? Is it like, a trophy from a mission or something?”

“No.”

“Right. Cool classified stuff, shouldn’t ask about it. Obviously.”

“Actually, it’s because I was joking,” Armsmaster said, his face unchanging.

Vista looked up at him. When she didn’t say anything, he went on, “To help ease the tension.”

A ding sounded and the walls opened up to reveal the big box. Vista made a noise of her own, “Pfft”, as the heroes entered. Her small smile stayed in place as she stood next to Armsmaster.

Proton found it interesting to be inside an electric box when she wasn’t being very electrical herself. The patterns looked different this way. But that thought didn’t sit in her mind for long, since she had more important things to be doing.

As they descended, she tried grabbing for the drawings again. Now Vista was closer, so it was easier to get her attention, and the girl was happy to hand over the papers.

“Armsmaster,” Proton said, pointing to the first page flapping in her grasp. Proton was quite proud of it.

“Hmmm. What is this, Proton?” the hero replied.

“Armsmaster.”

“Yes, I’m paying attention. What is it?”

Another jab at the page. “Nano. Armsmaster.”

“There are… blobs?” he said hesitantly. “Next to each other? I don’t think I can make head or tails of this.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s you,” Vista advised. That was another reason to like Vista a little bit more.

He tilted his head, looking again, “Is it?”

“I think so. She said your name enough times while she drew it.”

“Hmm.”

Armsmaster used his free hand to take the first page away, revealing the next picture.

“So this would be Miss Militia, presumably. And Assault and Velocity in red?”

“Proton,” Proton confirmed. Now he was getting it. She pointed to the final figure, so it could get named as well. “Battery.”

“I see now. You should’ve started with this one, it would’ve been easier for me to work out,” he said mildly.

“Nano, Armsmaster,” Proton replied, smiling at him.

Armsmaster flipped through two more pictures – one of Vista, and another of Armsmaster and Miss Militia – by the time the big box stopped a few floors down. He kept going as they proceeded through the twisting passageways, and Proton made sure he knew who each person was. There were lots of different combinations of people Proton had met. Most had Armsmaster somewhere in the mix.

“Me again,” Armsmaster said, when he came to Proton’s favourite drawing. He almost turned the page again, but stopped himself. Instead, his hand roamed back to the central figure, his thumb brushing lightly over the small patch of light blue next to the top of his drawn form.

“Then this would be…” he trailed off and moved his hand back to the edge of the page, though he didn’t turn it. Just kept looking at the picture. Proton knew he knew this one.

“Proton,” she said anyway. She tried to clap, but the papers got in the way.

He stayed on that page for enough time to round a few more corners. Which was okay with Proton, since she liked it a lot too.

The next drawing wasn’t Proton’s. Nor was the one after that. After thumbing through a couple, Armsmaster gently pried most of them from her grasp and handed them back to Vista without saying a word.

“Oh, sorry, I must’ve gotten some of my work mixed up with hers.”

“It’s fine. Though keep in mind that armour is generally more useful when it covers the midriff.”

Vista’s face pinkened as they approached another intersection. “I know that. Well, um, I’m going the other way, so…”

“Ah, goodbye then. Thanks for the help,” Armsmaster said.

“Yeah. Catch you later, I guess.”

He looked down at the shades of blue and green he’d let Proton hold onto. “Actually, come on, you can ride with me. No need to send out a PRT transport. If you want to, that is.”

He got a few paces down the corridor before Vista hurried to catch up.

\-----

Armsmaster’s container was as easy to inhabit as it had been the first time. It was nice and comfy already, filled with tiny little circuits that weren’t very active. Proton stirred a few of them up when Armsmaster’s hand wrapped around the handle after he took her off the motorcycle, but by now she had gotten used to the routine and tried not to nudge things around too much.

Armsmaster and Vista were having another conversation. Proton couldn’t talk at the moment, not without any audio systems to plug herself through, but she could still watch and listen – though things weren’t as crystal clear as they’d been when she was wrapped up in Armsmaster’s helmet.

“What does the Youth Guard want with Proton, anyway?” Vista asked.

“I don’t know, exactly. Working out what to do with her, in broad terms.”

“They’re not going to take her away, are they?”

Proton didn’t like that idea. She liked where she was, with Armsmaster and Vista. Their arms felt nice to be in. Even the way Armsmaster’s armoured fingers clenched around the handle was nice and familiar.

“… Are they?” Vista repeated.

“It’s a possibility. If they think that’s what’s best for her.”

“And you’re just going to let them?” Vista’s question came out sharp.

“I’m trying to do what’s best for her. The Youth Guard are the experts, I’ll defer to their judgement. And if they don’t think I’m the best option… Then she should be elsewhere.”

The container shook slightly in his hands, as Proton processed what he was saying. It was a bad thing. Why would they take her away from Armsmaster? She didn’t want him to go away more – he already left enough!

“Look, Vista... She’s not going to disappear. You’ll see her next time you’re up for watch duty, alright?”

“But you said that-”

“I know what I said. Trust me on this.”

The pair pushed through another thick door, and promptly stopped talking. They emerged into a hallway, and then into the PRT building’s lobby. A small trickle of people armed with cameras and microphones were filing through it into another room. Some of them turned to record Armsmaster and Vista, but the duo walked past with little more than a nod and a wave.

After they passed through another set of doors, they stepped into another big electrical box. Vista fidgeted as it rose. Once they emerged into another corridor, this one empty, the conversation resumed.

“This floor’s secure,” Armsmaster said, “Don’t tell anyone, but there’s an out-of-town fundraiser next Thursday. Our Protectorate members will be attending, so you can have her the whole day.”

“But that’s so far away!” Vista protested, “Do you even know if she’ll still be here?”

“I’m not going to be advocating for her to go. And they’re not going to rush her out the door. We’ll have time.”

“Can’t I watch her again before then?”

“Maybe. So long as you don’t give me reason to doubt you.”

“I won’t,” Vista said resolutely.

“Good. I’ll trust you’ve learnt your lesson then.”

Armsmaster lifted the container up closer to his face and rapped twice on the side. “Proton, you can come out now.”

Proton pushed herself into the container’s frontmost compartment, plopping out onto the soft padding, and was left in the dark for a moment before the door opened and Armsmaster picked her up again. She could feel tears welling up as she clung to him.

“You heard us, did you? It’ll be okay. I’m on your side here,” he said. His voice lacked its usual confidence, but the soft squeeze he gave her was reassuring.

It wasn’t long before Proton heard footsteps approaching. She kept one hand on Armsmaster while she wiped at her eyes with the other, giving herself a clearer view of the large woman approaching them.

“Armsmaster,” the lady said, “Good timing. I couldn’t afford to stay longer, but I occupied them.”

“Thank you, Director,” the tinker replied. They knew each other. Proton’s lower lip hadn’t stopped trembling, but she knew what she had to do.

“Host Identity Protocol,” Proton said, extending her arm for a shake as was customary and polite.

The Director merely raised an eyebrow, hands remaining firmly clasped behind her back, and continued talking over Proton’s head.

“I had to make _concessions_ , with the Shadow Stalker situation. You owe me.”

Armsmaster gave a tight nod, and the Director continued on her way. Proton’s arm tracked the woman as she passed, but it went unheeded.

“Vista, with me,” the Director ordered. “Browbeat will be on-stage soon, you can show support for the team.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Proton looked at her own hand, not understanding. Had she done something wrong? Was that why she would be sent away? Did Armsmaster not want her around after all? Was this what people would do to her, now that she couldn’t be zapped anymore? Each successive thought pushed more tears into her vision, enough that she could barely see when someone grabbed her outstretched hand.

“Bye Proton,” Vista said, shaking her hand up and down, “Um, just in case, alright?”

It was hard to speak. Proton just barely managed a shaky “Goodnight.” But once the sounds started in her throat, she couldn’t stop them. When Vista let go, Proton’s whimpers followed her down the corridor.

Proton tucked her head into Armsmaster’s chest, muffling her sobs as they started up in earnest. He didn’t move from the spot. Instead, he placed the container down and pulled Proton into a two-armed hug – one arm supporting her, the other rubbing her back soothingly.

“We can take a moment if you need it. There’s no rush.”

Proton wished she hadn’t started crying, but this was still good. It helped a lot.

After a long stretch of quiet reassurances, Armsmaster asked, “Do you think you can keep going?”

“P- Proton.”

“That's what I like to hear,” he said, lips twitching upward into a smile. That helped too.

He walked slowly the rest of the way, gently rocking her side to side as he wiped off some of the gunk that had spread around her face.

He knocked on the door before he entered, apologising for the delay.

“Oh, it’s no real trouble,” one of the Youth Guard assured him, “Come in, take a seat.”

Armsmaster sat. He placed Proton in the provided highchair next to him, and in the process of being strapped into it she took the opportunity to grab onto his left arm before he could retract it. His own position was awkward at first, before he pulled his arm back through Proton’s grip until he was mostly upright.

When she was confident that he wasn’t going to try extracting himself further, Proton turned her eyes to the three members of the Youth Guard. They all had grey hair, dark clothes, and wrinkly faces, and all of them were looking at her, but there were also some differences.

The man on the end had brown skin while the others had white, and a small electrical thing stuck out of his ear. He toyed with it with one hand and flipped through notes with the other. The woman on the other side had a streak of red running through her hair and was the shortest of the bunch; she leant forward on the table, her whole body slouched. The woman sitting in the middle had bigger eyes than anyone Proton had seen before, with a wireframe around them that extended back behind her ears. She moved the frame a little when she looked at Proton, and her eyes changed shape slightly.

Proton knew she should introduce herself, but she didn’t want to let go right now.

“Hello dearie,” said the central woman, “It’s nice to meet you. Well let’s get started, shall we? We’d like to say right off the bat that we appreciate the thoroughness of your correspondence, Armsmaster. And while we do need further explanation on some points, we’re generally happy with the state of affairs as you’ve reported them.”

The shorter woman picked up from there, “Unfortunately, efforts by other parties have not been fruitful. The investigation into the apartment’s essentially hit a dead-end, so far as we can tell. The tenant only had a single meeting with the landlord, almost a year ago, and none of the neighbours knew her. Paper trail fizzled out too, some sort of identity fraud.”

“There could be materials contained in the site,” Armsmaster mused, “Written records and… biological information regarding her parentage. Possibly. But it would still be hazardous to re-enter for now. It’s a contained threat.”

“That was one of the options we were hoping to discuss,” the Youth Guard man responded, a touch louder than anyone else had been. “If possible, we would like to connect with the girl’s kin. But we have nothing to go off of. No birth certificate, no family friends. We don’t even know the girl’s name. She’s a Jane Doe.”

That wasn’t true! Proton spoke up to correct them, a bit nervously, “Nano, Proton.”

“What was that, dear?” the wireframe-wearing woman asked.

“Proton.”

“Of course. Our mistake, Proton. Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” the man said, before revising his notes again. “We’ve jumped topics a bit. Maybe we should start off by discussing how things might progress if the investigation stalls out. There are several loving homes on the waiting list for adoption that we’ve preliminarily vetted. Good people who’d jump at a chance like this.”

“Are any of your options within Brockton Bay?” Armsmaster cut in. “I can be of more help if she’s kept close.”

“A few. Not a lot, but there’s more on our list of potentials. Other things are a bit more important than geography, in my view. We’ve got households with and without older siblings. Single parents if she’s more receptive to that. We’ve even got some sort of new-fangled parenting triad over in Portland, if she needs an extra set of hands.”

“Yes, we should be able to cater to her fairly specifically,” the large-eyed woman said, “Even with the eccentricities that powered children can bring to the table.”

She looked over to the child in question as she continued, “We know you’re quite intelligent, Proton. It can be a tricky question, but can you think of anything you’d like to have in a family?”

Every eye in the room turned to Proton again, and her face creased up as she thought it over.

There was only one answer she could come up with. She didn’t even need to think about which words to use.

“Armsmaster,” she said, sniffling. “Armsmaster.”


	14. Teething (rewritten)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to rewrite this chapter. The previous version had some serious issues with tone and may have misled readers in some important places. It's still imperfect, but I think this is a change for the better.
> 
> If you've already read the previous version, you can safely skip to the halfway mark - the first half is unchanged. (Or you could reread the first bit too - I think it's pretty good.)

Proton knew what she wanted. It was a simple request.

“Update!”

“Again?” Armsmaster replied, glancing up from his work. “You weren’t satisfied with the last one?”

She shook her head. The last one was good, but she wanted more.

“I suppose time has gotten away from me. We can take a break.”

“Update, update!”

“Yes, I hear you,” he said with a chuckle. “But just one.”

He picked her up and headed to the break room.

“Now remember, this is a special treat. It’s important to practice moderation with sweet things, understand?”

Proton was put down on the table, where she shifted around with anticipation. Finally, it was here.

The cupcake was monstrous. Skin of brown and gold, with off-white veins running through its body. Packed tightly into a colourful liner, its puffy upper half spilled over the top and poured down the sides like a pot that had boiled over.

But its size was what stood out most, easily surpassing some of the meals she’d had recently. Proton had been eating quite regularly under Armsmaster’s watch, but this was something else. Something special.

And now it was right in front of her.

“It’s a bit big for you. Might have to cut it into pieces,” Armsmaster commented.

While her first cupcake, just yesterday, had been an eye-opening experience, this one was just as impactful – it was the first time she’d approached a cupcake knowing the wonders it could embody. Before Armsmaster could so much as unwrap its liner, she brought a hand down on top of it, grabbing at the gooey frosting. She flexed her fingers open and closed a few times, marvelling at the novel texture.

Then she brought the concoction to her lips and began to suck on her fingers. A smooth creamy taste flowed through her mouth, running over teeth and gums alike. The sensation had to go somewhere; her free arm began shaking up and down, fingers half-curled and elbow bent.

“There you go.” Armsmaster’s voice brought her back to the cupcake at hand. He’d removed the liner and broken it into a few smaller chunks.

Her sticky fingers reached out, as hungry as her mouth, and seized the nearest bundle of cake. It was soft and pliable, squishing briefly between her teeth before it came apart. Her eyes closed, shutting off sight so she could focus on what was happening in her mouth. Flavours popped and fizzled, building upon one another. Then it all hit at once, strange new tastes rushing through her whole body.

Her eyes flew open, her hands shook, and she began to rock slightly back and forth. It felt like she was channelling a vibration. It was all too much, and she found she didn’t care.

Eventually, she’d chewed through the whole chunk. She swallowed one last time, then turned to Armsmaster with a giant grin on her face. Her words had never felt so inadequate. She needed to know, needed to say.

“Armsmaster, materials?”

“It’s a banana cupcake. I’m not sure how many bananas are in it, but that’s part of why it’s that colour. There’s honey in it too, and a little bit of cinnamon if I’m remembering correctly.”

“Bar nananano,” she tried to say, obstructed by her frosting-coated fingers that had somehow slipped back into her mouth.

“That’s pretty close.”

She looked at the remaining pieces. The cupcake was amazing, and it was all for her.

But something about that felt wrong.

She reached out with her cleaner hand, picked up the largest piece, considered it. Then, with a great effort, she held it out towards Armsmaster.

“Need help?” he asked.

“Input update, Armsmaster.”

“Hmmm… For me? That’s nice of you to offer, but I don’t require it. I’ll go make myself some food if that’s your concern.”

Proton kept her arm extended. It wasn’t just that she wanted to eat with him. It was complicated. She wanted to eat the cupcake because it was very good food, but she also wanted him to have the cupcake because it was nice and he was too.

“Bar nanano, Armsmaster,” she argued. “Bar nanananano.”

Armsmaster paused halfway out of his chair, sighed, and sat back down. He held out his hand, letting Proton drop the cupcake into his palm. “Thank you, Proton.”

She picked up another slice and dove in. Banana and honey and cinnamon played across her tongue, each distinct but working together. She didn’t know which was which, but she wanted to find out one day.

“Hmm. That is quite good,” Armsmaster said.

Proton nodded vigorously in agreement, careful to keep the cupcake fragment pressed into her mouth. This piece was just as good as the first. Better, if anything, with Armsmaster joining in. When she was done, she looked up at him again, then followed his eyes over to the doorway.

A stranger had just walked in. His armour was white and gold, and he had four big lumps of electricity.

“Hey, Armsmaster, wasn’t expecting to see you here,” he said, approaching the table.

“Dauntless. Likewise,” Armsmaster replied.

“Seen Triumph around?”

“No. He’s taking my patrol?”

“Yeah, just got the switch sorted. We’re heading out in five… So, this is Proton? Can’t believe it’s been a week, and I’m just meeting her now. Somehow we’ve kept missing each other.”

“A shame.”

“Proton, Host–” Proton said, starting to hold out a hand before noticing how messy they both were.

Armsmaster swept in with a napkin, cleaning her right hand off and motioning to Dauntless. “Do me a favour and shake her hand.”

Dauntless leant on the table with his left arm, going in for the handshake with his right. While they shook, Proton looked at his electrical chunks.

One was in a long rod on Dauntless’ back, another in his boots. A smaller chunk was spread throughout his armour, and the fourth was in the shield strapped to his left arm. Proton let go of Dauntless’ hand and reached out to touch it.

“What’ve you two been eating?” Dauntless asked.

Proton told him, and Armsmaster followed up with more detail. “Cupcakes. The Youth Guard gave me a whole tray; the batch is ostensibly healthier than most.”

“That’s neat, yeah, you can absolutely make healthy stuff like this. Did it myself when my kid was younger. Cream cheese frosting, stuff like that. Less sugar that way. You know, if you ever want to bake something, or just want advice, I’d be happy to help.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Cool, that’s cool. No pressure.”

Dauntless’ electrical bits were unlike anything Proton had seen before. They didn’t connect to anything, not even each other, and they weren’t in any circuits. They weren’t doing anything, there was no obvious pattern to figure out, just a big ball of energy hiding beneath the surface.

“Is she normally this into tech? You must love that.”

“Somewhat. She hasn’t been this interested in my work.”

“Ah. Well, kids, you know. They’ll get fixated on something one day but then turn around tomorrow and want the opposite.”

Looking closely at the lump, she could see its structure wasn’t quite the same all over. The parts deeper in were thicker, older, and more squished. New bits had been attached to that base, and then more parts on top of them in turn. They were all integrated well enough to be one cohesive whole and each extra bit of the blob only made it more solid. But there were still tiny cracks, little lines of fusion where it could potentially be broken apart or moved around if caught at the right time.

Satisfied with this discovery, she gave the shield a celebratory pat. Her hand pulled a little bit of electricity along as it rose up, and when it came back down the electricity tugged right back. Her hand flipped state and slipped inside. Without it holding her up, she began to tilt forward, tipping into the shield.

The two heroes reacted immediately. Dauntless pulled away, the energy in his boots coming to life and crackling out around his feet. Armsmaster grabbed at Proton’s back, plucking her up and away. A brief stab of electricity connected her hand and the shield, before sputtering away to nothing when the distance between them grew too great.

Armsmaster quickly checked Proton over, then flipped her around so he could look her in the eye.

“Are you alright?”

“Proton.” She didn’t know what had happened, exactly, but it hadn’t hurt.

“Good. Guess that’s another thing to watch out for. Dauntless, did anything happen?”

The man ran his palm over the shield, coming away with a dollop of burnt frosting. “Not that I can tell. Haven’t lost any charge.”

“Keep an eye on it, let me know if anything changes.”

“Will do.”

As the adults hashed out a few more considerations about Dauntless’ equipment, Proton split her time between studying Dauntless’ chunks – from a distance, this time – and cramming more cupcake into her mouth. Dauntless didn’t want to approach even when she offered him a fairly sizeable piece, but Armsmaster accepted one when she pushed it towards him.

He didn’t eat his new chunk right away though. He carried it alongside Proton, back to the workshop.

As he picked his tools back up, Proton examined the lonely crumbs on her hands. She pecked at them, devouring each of them as eagerly as she had the very first bite.

When she was done, she turned her head up towards Armsmaster, another simple request on her mind.

“Update?”

\-----

The phantom taste of banana cupcake lingered on Colin’s lips. The first bite had been genuinely refreshing, an enjoyable deviation from his usual meal plan. But it soon turned to ash, a small betrayal of the sacrifices he had made to better himself.

And now he was doing it again. Stopping mid-patrol, taking an unscheduled break. He wasn’t entirely sure why.

Rookward Cemetery was a quiet place at most times of day. Doubly so just after midnight.

Colin paused in front of the gate. The wrought iron bars looked unfamiliar, and it took a moment to place why: some of the dents had been fixed. It really had been a while since his last visit.

But his old habits emerged easily enough. Walking at an even pace, studying whichever graves were nearby. There were too many for him to consider them all. Far too many.

He’d memorised a few spots. Places marking some of his failures. They’d become sparser over the years, but they never stopped popping up. He wasn’t here for any of them, not today. But they affected his drifting route, loosely pulling him in one direction after the next.

Couldn’t stop in front of any of them for too long. Just in case someone got it in their head that he had some manner of attachment beyond the professional. A dead parent or sibling or friend or lover, or any other sort of connection they might choose to imagine. If word got out, a civilian could be targeted in the mistaken belief that they could provide leverage over him.

He hadn’t heard of a case like that recently. Villains changed – in some ways, to some extent – and so did the ever-flexible boundaries they clung to, the examples they pointed to when they needed to justify their behaviour on the grounds that they could have done worse. That they had ascended to the moral heights of leaving widows to their grief wouldn’t be too much of a surprise; there was a decent chance his roving was unnecessary.

But lessons learnt through experience had a way of sticking.

His thoughts ground to a stop when he spotted another headstone. It was defaced by hateful graffiti, crowding out the name of the dead. None of Colin’s tools could clean it up without damaging the stone underneath.

What had he been trying to accomplish by coming here? This wasn’t helping anyone.

He moved on.

There was a patch of graves to one side of the cemetery, the ones he’d been working his way up to visiting. They held unclaimed bodies, the poor and lonely souls who had laid in the mortuary for months without a single person willing to come forward and make arrangements for their corpse.

They still received a show of respect. A simple funeral, with a simple service and a simple grave. Pauper’s graves. No headstones. Minimal expense, befitting a burial carried out under government contract.

Most had no markings at all, no sign of their names or even their presence. Only a few had a wooden cross or a stake, a haphazard display that there was more significance to the short grass here than there was in a public park or a picnicking area.

Colin didn’t know if he was standing on top of someone’s body right now. He could make a reasonable guess based off the spacing of the marked plots, move a few steps to accommodate that estimate, but there were no guarantees. He planted himself there, boots heavy on the soil, halberd at his side.

“I don’t know you,” Colin said. His words came out low, directed to the empty plot in front of him.

“I don’t know your name, or your age. I don’t know your history, your connections to the world. By any reasonable metric, I don’t know who you are.

“I know you’re dead. And that eventually you’re headed here. Once I get you out of that mess, and the morgue decides to put you in the ground. Might be a few months.

“But I have some thoughts I’d like to get off my chest before then. I figure it doesn’t matter that you’re not here yet, since you’re dead.”

He paused a moment, chewed his lip. “I’m repeating myself. Never was good at eulogies.

“I know you have some connection to Proton. Don’t know a lot about her yet, either. You’d know her by a different name, of course.

“Presumably, you’re her mother. It’s an assumption, but it’s something, at least. I don’t know if you were a good caretaker, though there are signs indicating you weren’t.”

Colin let out a long sigh and turned his eyes up to the stars. “When my own mother passed… It was difficult. We didn’t have the best relationship. Quite a bad one, frankly. My memories of her aren’t terribly fond, but I still think she’s worth remembering. Most people are.

“I remember a lot of people. Old colleagues. Friends.

“Compo was always friendly. Everyone who knew them said so, and it was true. They saved my life, the first time I fought Leviathan. Got put on a memorial for it. We’d barely known each other for a month, and they still didn’t hesitate.

“Headword tapped me for my first promotion, helped me get situated. Three different groups claimed credit for his murder. A cold case now. He’d probably be doing a better job than me, with Proton.

“Wheel Spitter was the last living member of my original strike team, apart from myself. Introduced me to poetry that was actually enjoyable to read. Another memorial, six years ago. I’m still angry that the damn thing has her birth name on it, instead of the one she chose for herself.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever stop being angry. There are too many graves, too many funerals.

“Once you’ve been to enough of them, you start to hear the same ideas expressed in different ways. ‘A person dies once when their body gives out. Then they die again when they are forgotten.’ But there are too damn many for me to remember them all properly.

“I don’t know how many other people still remember them. I don’t know how quickly they’ll be forgotten, after I join them. I don’t know how quickly I’ll be forgotten.

“I want to be worth remembering. For myself, and for them. As though I’ll be keeping them alive with me, right up to that second death.

“It’s a silly thought, in some ways. I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone who wants to imitate me. But it gives me something to focus on. Makes the little worries fall away.

He turned back to the earth, taking a moment to refocus. “I’ll remember you as best I can. Remember where you’re buried, at the very least. So that Proton can have somewhere to go if she ever wants to find you.

“I’m not sure I’ll have the choice of telling her. That’ll be up to her guardians, after she’s adopted off somewhere. But I’ll try to make sure they have the option.”

Colin shifted his weight, moving his halberd from one hand to the other. He studied the small divot his weapon had worn into the ground by his feet, where he’d been leaning on it. “She has to go eventually. Can’t stop that. I’ve been falling behind, looking after her. I don’t… I’m not like Dauntless. I need to dedicate myself if I want to help people. Have to stay the course.”

He let out a bittersweet smile. “She’s not the worst distraction though. Things have been different, these last few days… It’s too early to really say, but your kid’s a good one. I hope you’d be proud of her.”

His helmet pinged. There was more that he wanted to say, but he had taken too long already. After spending a few more seconds to fix his composure, he answered the call.

The console operator spoke clearly, “Reports of parahuman conflict between Lung and an unknown party. Sending coordinates now.”

Colin took one last look at the dirt and considered offering a final thought, something that would be a proper conclusion. Nothing quite seemed to fit.

That would have to be enough time for the dead. Now to go and make sure he would be remembered by the living.


End file.
